^ 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRR 


Q^A-^y^^C^^     i^irvjjj^..^^ 


The  Soul  of  Pierre, 


BT 

GEORGE   OHNET. 


TRANSLATED   FROM   TH«   FRKNCH  BY 

Mary  J.  Serrano, 

Translator  of  "  Marie  Bashkirtseff—the  Journal  of  a 
Young  Artist,"  Etc. 


NEW  YORK: 

THE  F.  M.  LUPTON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


CopYiiicwr, 
1890, 
O.  M.  DUNHAM. 


ABri^U 


•    •      •  • 


•  •  • 

•  •   • 

•  •  »  • 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE 


DR.  DA VI DOFF,  an  inspired  look  light, 
ing  up  his  rugged  and  strongly  marked 
countenance,  turned  toward  the  guests  of  Prince 
Patrizzi  and  let  fall  in  the  midst  of  the  discus- 
sion the  following  remarkable  words : 

"Do  you  believe,  then,  in  the  power  of  sug- 
gestion, urged  with  the  sharpness  and  persist- 
ence of  a  gimlet's  point,  to  make  a  thought 
enter  your  mind?  Do  you  believe  that  this 
thought  can  influence  your  moral  condition  to 
such  a  degree  as  to  alter  your  physical  condi- 
tion. You  concede,  do  you  not,  that  the 
moral  nature  exercises  a  potent, — an  irresistible 
influence  over  the  physical?" 

"We  do,"  tranquilly  responded  the  Neapoli- 
tan.    "And  for  this  reason — and  here  is  the 

X 

ivil34591 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


ground   on  which   I   propose  to  meet  you — it 
would  be  necessary  to  conclude — " 

This  response  to  the  Russian  doctor's  ques- 
tion, which  seemed  to  promise  a  lengthy  dis- 
cussion, was  succeeded  among  the  men  and 
women  who  had  just  finished  dining  in  the 
salon  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris,  on  the  terrace  at 
Monte  Carlo,  by  a  moment  of  stupefied  silence. 
Around  the  table,  sumptuously  laid,  and  on 
which  the  flowers  were  dying,  asphyxiated  in 
the  heat  of  the  lights  and  the  smoke  of  the 
cigarettes,  glances  of  astonishment  and  ennui 
were  interchanged.  Then  a  storm  of  remon- 
strances and  exclamations — the  indignant  pro- 
test of  these  worldly  people,  compelled  to 
abandon  for  a  moment  the  habitual  frivolity  of 
their  discourse  to  listen  to  the  dry  details  of 
a  scientific  discussion,  broke  forth. 

"We  have  had  enough  of  physiology  !'* 
"We  are  here  to  drink,  to  smoke,  to  laugh." 
"This  is  a  dining-room,  not  a  clinic." 
"Bah !     The  doctor  is  crazy !" 
"Listen,  gentlemen,  I  beg  of  you ;  it  is  very 
curious!" 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


"These  ladies  are  getting  bored." 
"Open  the  windows,  this  smells  of  science." 
"For  my  part  I  would  much  rather  be  at  the 
Casino.     I  dreamed  last  night  that  red  turned 
up  thirteen  times — " 

"That  was  a  suggestion  of  the  croupiers." 
"Don't  you  want  to  come  and  dance?" 
"Oh,  Laura,  come  to  the  piano  and  play  for 
us." 

"Well,  my  children,  go  where  you  will,  but 
let  us  have  peace." 

"How  rude  you  all  are!" 
Several  of  the  guests  arose  noisily  and  asked 
their  wraps  from  the  maitre  d'hStel,  who 
hastened  to  get  them.  Patrizzi  remained 
seated,  looking  with  a  smile  at  the  beautiful 
women,  who  with  coquettish  gestures  shook  out 
their  skirts,  and  gave  a  few  touches  to  their 
bodices.  He  extended  his  hand  nonchalantly 
to  his  friends,  saying: 

"Let  every  one  follow  his  own  inclination. 
Go  on  before  us.  In  an  hour  we  will  join 
you." 

Then    turning    toward    the   painter,    Pierre 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


Laurier,  his  friend  Jacques  de  Vignes,  and  Dr. 
Davidoflf,  who  had  not  moved — 

"Go  on,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said  to  the 
doctor,  "you  iiUerest  me  amazingly/' 

The  Russian  doctor  threw  away  the  cigar- 
ette he  was  smoking,  lighted  another,  and  look- 
ing at  his  three  listeners  with  an  authoritative 
air,  he  continued  the  recital  that  had  been 
abruptly  cut  short  by  the  interruptions  of  those 
who  had  just  withdrawn. 

"I  confess  that  the  story  I  had  begun  to  tell 
our  friends  is  strange  enough,  and  that  to 
skeptical  minds  it  may  seem  improbable, 
although  in  our  Slav  countries,  where  the 
atmosphere  is  foggy  and  gloomy,  and  which 
seem  the  native  land  of  spectres  and  phantoms, 
it  would  not  have  awakened  the  least  incre- 
dulity. Half  of  our  compatriots  are  uncon- 
scious Swedenborgians,  who  believe  with  the 
great  philosopher,  but  without  examination, 
in  the  phenomena  of  the  invisible  world ;  and  if 
you  should  state  in  their  presence,  as  I  state 
now,  the  astonishing  fact  that  the  soul  of  a 
dying  person  may  enter  into  a  living  body, 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


through  the  will  of  the  person  about  to  die, 
you  would  see  them  turn  pale  and  tremble 
indeed,  but  they  would  not  dispute  its  truth. 
In  our  country  we  believe  in  vampires  who 
issue  from  their  tombs  as  soon  as  the  first  ray 
of  moonlight  falls  upon  the  stone ;  we  believe 
in  apparitions  that  announce  an  approaching 
death.  And  by  the  sole  fact  of  believing  in 
these  miracles  they  are  rendered  possible.  A 
strong  conviction  is  the  most  powerful  of 
forces,  and  spiritualism  requires  as  its  first  con- 
dition unquestioning  belief.  *If  you  doubt,' 
the  adepts  will  tell  you,  'do  not  seek  to  pene- 
trate our  mysteries ;  they  will  remain,  for  you, 
unfathomable.  The  invisible  world  reveals 
itself  only  to  those  who  desire  ardently  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  it.  Scoffers  and  skeptics  will 
find  it  forever  closed  to  them.*  " 

Jacques  de  Vignes  was  here  taken  with  a 
violent  fit  of  coughing,  which  caused  a  death- 
like pallor  to  overspread  his  handsome  and 
melancholy  countenance.  He  recovered  his 
breath  with  difficulty,  and  turning  to  the 
doctor,  as  if  encouraged  by  a  secret  hope : 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 


"And  you  yourself  were  a  witness  of  the 
occurrence?"  he  asked,  in  a  choking  voice. 
**You  saw  this  young  girl  re-born  into  exist- 
ence, recover  her  sti-ength,  her  health,  as  if  the 
vitality  of  her  betrothed  had  passed  into  her 
undiminished?" 

"I  do  not  discuss  the  question  whether  the 
material  fact  occurred,"  responded  Davidoff, 
"I  give  you  solely  and  simply  its  psychological 
consequences.  Wladimir  Alexievich,  seeing 
Maria  Fedorowna,  whom  he  adored,  expiring 
gradually,  as  the  flame  of  a  lamp  expires  for 
want  of  oil,  sought  in  vain,  by  turns,  the  help 
of  every  physician  in  Moscow,  and  having  sent 
for  me  to  St.  Petersburg, — me,  who  am  now 
speaking  to  you — only  to  hear  from  my  lips 
her  sentence  of  death,  conceived  the  idea  of 
directing  himself  to  an  old  Tongouze  sorceress 
who  had  brought  with  her  from  Nijni-Novgorod 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  work  miracles. 
He  went  one  evening — Christmas  eve  it  was — to 
the  wretched  hovel  outside  the  city  in  which 
she  lived,  to  consult  lier.  The  witch,  after 
performing  in  his  presence  her  terrific  incant- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


ations,  gave  him  in  a  wooden  cup  a  strangely 
smelling  beverage  to  drink.  As  he  hesitated 
to  drink  it  she  looked  at  him  with  a  threaten- 
ing air  and  said : 

**You  pretend  to  love  a  woman,  and  to  desire 
to  save  her  life,  even  at  the  expense  of  your 
own,  and  yet  you  are  afraid  to  drink  a  liquid 
because  the  nature  of  it  is  unknown  to  you, 
and  you  think  it  may  be  poison.  Oh,  man !  son 
of  man,  a  coward  like  all  men,  suffer  and  shed 
tears  like  a  man,  since  you  are  not  able  to  ele- 
vate yourself  above  humanity  !** 

As  she  spoke,  Wladimir  Alexievich,  touched 
with  shame,  emptied  the  rude  goblet  at  a 
draught,  and  felt  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden 
intoxication.  A  delicious  warmth  pervaded 
his  frame,  and  he  felt  himself  become  lighter 
and  lighter,  until  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he 
were  floating  in  air.  His  eyes  seemed  veiled 
in  a  luminous  mist,  as  if  his  gaze,  piercing 
beyond  the  clouds,  had  been  arrested  by  sud- 
den splendors.  His  blood  surged  in  his  veins 
and  seraphic  hymns  sounded  in  his  ears.  He 
felt  himself  transported  into  boundless  realms 


8  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRB, 

of  light,  and  his  brow  was  refreshed  by  delight- 
ful breezes.  Little  by  little  he  lost  the  con- 
sciousness of  terrestrial  things,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  divine  transport,  an  ecstatic  beatitude,  he 
saw  advancing  toward  him  a  celestial  shape, 
a  shining  and  wondrous  apparition,  which,  in 
a  voice  sweet  as  the  song  of  angels,  thus 
addressed  him : 

**Do  you  wish  to  purchase  the  life  of  her 
you  love?  Then  give  your  own  in  exchange 
for  it.  Your  soul  in  her  body,  and  your  body 
in  the  cold  earth — you  will  have  nothing  to 
regret,  since  you  will  dwell  in  her,  and  in  her 
happiness  will  be  your  joy." 

The  celestial  phantom  vanished  in  a  lumi- 
nous mist,  and  Wladimir  Alexievich  regained 
consciousness.  He  found  himself  in  the  hut 
of  the  Tongouze,  near  a  fire  of  spruce  wood. 
The  old  woman  was  muttering  confused  words, 
without  seeming  to  take  any  notice  of  her 
guest  of  an  hour.  Terrified  by  what  had  been 
revealed  to  him,  the  young  man  tried  to  collect 
his  thoughts,  and  get  some  clear  idea  of  his 
strange  adventure.     He  saw  before  him  only  a 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


commonplace  and  filthy  hag,  who  had  placed 
him  en  rapport  with  the  spirits,  as  the  door- 
keeper of  a  temple  opens  to  the  worshiper 
the  sanctuary  of  the  shining  gods.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  the  old  woman's  shoulder.  She 
turned  toward  him  a  dull  glance,  and  in  sar- 
donic accents  said : 

"Well,  have  you  learned  what  you  desired 
to  know?" 

"By  what  means  did  you  deprive  me  of 
consciousness  of  the  external  world?"  he  asked. 
"What  was  it  you  gave  me  to  drink?" 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you?  Did  you 
behold  the  spirits  ?" 

"By  what  sorcery  did  you  make  them  visi- 
ble to  me?" 

"Ask  that  of  them!  They  are  here — all 
around  you.  Do  you  doubt  it?  Remain  then 
without  hope.  Trust  in  them,  and  supreme 
delights  await  you !" 

The  sorceress  seemed  to  grow  in  stature. 
Her  countenance  was  ennobled  with  a  rude 
dignity,  and  pointing  to  the  door  she  said  to 
Wladimir: 


10  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


"Do  not  tempt  Heaven.  Go  I  And  believe! 
believe!" 

He  dropped  on  the  floor  his  purse,  which 
the  old  woman  pushed  disdainfully  toward  the 
hearth  with  her  foot.  She  extended  her  arms 
as  if  about  to  make  a  final  invocation,  and, 
her  countenance  glowing  with  an  inspired  light, 
she  repeated  in  accents  that  vibrated  in  the 
breast  of  Wladimir  Alexievich  : 

"Believe!  poor  child!  In  that  is  safety! 
Believe !" 

He  left  the  hut,  returned  to  his  house,  wrote 
far  into  the  night,  and  on  the  following  day 
was  found  dead  in  his  room. 

"And  did  his  betrothed  recover  her  health," 
asked  Pierre  Laurier. 

"She  recovered  her  health,"  replied  Davidoff, 
"but  although  she  was  beautiful  and  adored,  she 
would  give  her  hand  to  none  of  her  suitors,  and 
remained  unmarried,  as  if  she  had  desired  to 
remain  faithful  to  a  mysterious  and  secret 
love." 

"And  do  you  believe  in  this  miracle ?"  asked 
Jacques  de  Vignes  with  an  effort. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  li 


Davidoff  shook  his  head,  and  answered  in  a 
tone  of  raillery : 

"Doctors  do  not  believe  in  much,  in  the 
age  in  which  we  live.  Materialism  has  many 
advocates  among  my  colleagues.  Yet  magnet- 
ism has,  in  these  latter  days,  taken  on  strange 
forms  and  opened  new  horizons  to  our  gaze. 
We  walk  side  by  side  with  spiritualism,  which 
testifies  to  the  existence  of  the  soul.  And,  to 
admit  the  influence  of  mental  suggestion  over 
subjects  in  the  hypnotic  sleep,  is  not  this  com- 
ing very  near  to  a  belief  in  a  superior  principle 
which  directs  and,  as  a  consequence,  governs 
matter?" 

"You  philosophize,  my  dear  fellow,"  re- 
sponded the  prince,  "but  you  do  not  answer." 

"Oh,  as  for  you,  Patrizzi,"  said  Pierre  Lau- 
rier,  laughing,  "you  beUeve  in  Saint  Janua- 
rius,  and  in  serious  cases  you  invoke  the  aid  of 
the  Madonna ;  you  carry  branches  of  coral  as 
a  protection  against  the  evil  eye,  and  you  turn 
pale  when  you  see  a  knife  and  fork  laid  cross- 
wise on  the  tablecloth ;  you  are,  consequently, 
already  a  convert  to  the  juggleries  of  Davidoff. 


ti  THE  SOUL  OP  PlEkRE, 

But  Jacques  and  I,  we  are  tougher,  and  we 
need  some  proofs  to  convince  us." 

"Yet  it  would  be  pleasant  to  believe  in  a 
mysterious  influence  that  could  restore  one  to 
health,"  murmured  the  sick  man.  "Ah,  to  be 
able  to  cling  to  some  supreme  hope !  would  not 
that  itself  be  health?  Has  not  confidence  half 
the  merit  in  effecting  a  cure." 

"Parbleu !      Those  are  the  most  reasonable 
words  that  have  been  uttered  for  the  last  two 
hours,"  cried  Pierre  Laurier.    "  To  the  devil  with 
your  witches,  your  Swedenborgians,  your  lunar 
apparitions   and   your    souls   that    pass   from 
body  to  body,  like  the  ferret  of  Bois-Joli.     To 
give  a  sick  person  the  assurance  that  he  will 
recover,  is  almost  sure  to  cure  him ;  that  is  the 
truth !     So  take  my  friend  Jacques  de  Vignes 
here   present,  who   has    had   himself   ordered 
south  because  he  has  taken  a  cold,  make  him 
understand  that  his  malady  is  purely  imagin- 
ary, that  his  lungs  are  not  affected,  that  he 
commits  a  great  mistake  in  thinking  that  they 
are, — in  a  word,  prove  to  him  that  he  has  only 
a  slight  ailment,  of  no  consequence  whatever, 


THE  SOVL   OF  PIERRE.  t% 

and  doing  away  with  the  cause,  you  do  away 
with  the  effect.  The  aforesaid  Jacques  de 
Vignes  will  be  obliged  to  renounce  his  languid 
speech,  his  languishing  airs,  his  Wertherian 
glances.  He  will  return  to  a  love  for  life,  for  a 
beefsteak,  a  cigar,  a  pretty  woman — " 

"Alas !"  murmured  Jacques,  a  severe  fit  of 
coughing  shaking  his  frame.  "If  it  were  only 
possible  for  me  to  hope  !  I  love  life,  and  every 
day  I  feel  my  hold  upon  it  growing  weaker." 

The  painter  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  sick  man,  and  in  a  friendly  voice  said : 

"You  do  not  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  not  seriously  ill;  you  do  not  believe 
Davidoff,  who  has  examined  you.  You  desire, 
in  spite  of  everything,  to  nurse  your  uneasiness, 
and  to  torture  yourself,  as  if  for  pleasure. 
You  make  your  mother  wretched  by  so  doing, 
and  you  cause  your  sister  to  shed  tears.  Is 
there  nothing,  then,  that  will  convince  you ; 
Must  I  do  for  you  what  Wladimir  Alexievich 
did,  and  give  you  a  soul  in  exchange  for  yours. 
I  have  only  my  own,  as  you  know,  and  that  is 
not  of  much  account.     Come,  if  I  were  to  give 


t4  THE  SOUL   OF  PlERkE. 


it  to  you  some  night,  in  a  fit  of  spleen,  it  would 
not  be  a  very  splendid  present.  But  one 
should  not  look  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth,  and 
the  important  point  is  that  you  should  live, 
you  who  have  everything  to  make  you  happy, 
you  who  are  loved,  you  who  would  be  regret- 
ted. Whilst  I — I  might  throw  myself  this 
moment  from  the  terrace  of  the  Casino  into 
the  sea,  and  who  would  regret  the  fool  called 
Pierre  Laurier,  the  artist  powerless  to  grasp 
his  ideal,  the  gambler  grown  indifferent  to  the 
emotions  of  the  game,  the  lover  scoffed  at  by 
his  mistress,  the  viveur  weary  of  life!" 

He  made  the  table  shake  with  a  blow  of  his 
clenched  hand,  his  face  distorted  by  a  painful 
emotion  and  his  lips  curled  in  a  bitter  smile. 

"I  am  stupid  indeed  to  persist  in  beginning 
anew  every  morning  the  existence  I  curse 
every  night !  To  the  devil  with  it !  Jacques, 
do  you  want  my  soul!" 

"Come,"  said  Jacques,  "you  have  had 
another  quarrel  to-day  with  Clemence  Villa. 
Give  her  up,  my  poor  friend,  since  she  makes 
you  suffer  so  much." 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  15 

"As  if  I  could !"  cried  Pierre,  growing  very 
pale  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
which  suddenly  grew  clouded. 

"Beat  her,  then,"  said  Patrizzi  tranquilly. 

"If  I  only  dared !"  cried  the  young  man,  his 
eyes  flashing.  "But  I  am  the  slave  of  that 
girl.  She  does  with  me  whatever  she  wishes. 
Her  vices,  her  follies,  her  infidelities,  I  put  up 
with  them  all.  At  times  I  would  like  to  kill 
her.  And  it  is  I  myself  I  would  strike  in  seek- 
ing to  escape  from  her  tyranny.  Ah,  I  am 
cowardly  and  base.  I  know  that  she  betrays 
me.  I  surprised  her  the  other  day  in  a  meet- 
ing with  an  insignificant  Italian  baritone.  She 
ruins  me,  she  degrades  me,  she  lowers  me 
more  than  she  does  herself,  yet  I  have  not 
the  strength  to  break  my  chain.  I  am  indeed 
very  unfortunate !" 

"No,  you  are  not  unfortunate,"  said  the 
doctor,  "you  are  sick.  Let  us  go  out :  it  is 
stifling  here." 

"It  is  ten  o'clock,"  said  Jacques  de  Vignes. 
"The  carriage  must  be  in  waiting  for  me.  I 
am  going  back  to  Villefranche." 


1 6  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

"Wrap  yourself  up  well,"  said  the  prince; 
"the  nights  are  cold." 

The  artist  helped  his  friend  on  with  his  over- 
coat, wrapped  a  plaid  around  him,  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  said  to  him  in  a  voice  that 
still  vibrated  with  his  recent  emotion : 

**Good-night.  And  remember — count  upon 
my  soul." 

Dr.  Davidoff  put  Jacques  de  Vignes  into  the 
carriage,  closed  the  door,  and  gave  the  coach- 
man his  orders.  Then,  after  listening  for  a 
moment  to  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  roll- 
ing on  the  sand,  he  slowly  returned  to  the 
artist,  who  was  looking  at  the  stars  while  he 
waited  for  him. 

*'Shall  we  go  to  the  Casino?"  asked  Patrizzi. 

"What  for?  The  night  is  so  beautiful.,  let  us 
walk." 

"Which  way  do  you  go?" 

"Toward  Mentone." 

"And  you  will  pause,  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  here,  at  the  door  of  a  villa  of  which  the 
gate  is  covered  with  roses?" 

"Yes." 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  1 7 

"And  you  will  come  out  in  a  moment,  furious 
with  others  and  with  yourself.  Do  not  go  to 
see  that  girl." 

"And  where  would  you  have  me  go?  If, 
obedient  to  your  wishes,  I  return  to  my  hotel, 
in  the  solitude  of  my  chamber,  I  shall  think 
only  of  the  woman  you  bid  me  shun.  She 
holds  complete  sway  over  me — I  confess  it, 
and  the  ties  that  bind  me  to  her  must  be  strong 
indeed,  since,  notwithstanding  the  desperate 
efforts  I  have  made,  I  have  not  been  able  to 
break  them.  After  each  effort  I  return  to  her, 
weaker  and  more  enslaved  than  before,  and  I 
hate  and  despise  myself  for  it." 

"It  is  an  easy  matter,  nevertheless,  to  leave  a 
woman,"  said  the  Neapolitan,  smiling.  "Un- 
happily one  does  not  find  it  out  until  it  is  too 
late.  But  one  should  make  the  effort,  at  all 
events.  It  is  easy,  however,  to  counsel  philo- 
sophy to  those  who  are  suffering.  Good-night, 
gentlemen.     I  am  going  to  break  the  bank." 

He  lit  a  cigar,  and  went  away.  Davidoff  and 
Pierre  Laurier  continued  their  walk  through 
the  gardens  bathed  in  the  moonlight.     The  air 


1 8  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 


was  mild  and  fragrant.  They  left  the  town, 
and  to  their  right  at  the  base  of  the  rocks 
along  the  shore  they  could  see  the  sea,  shining 
like  a  silver  mirror.  The  night  was  so  bright 
that  the  lights  of  the  vessels  in  the  distance 
shone  red  and  tremulous.  They  ascended  the 
acclivity  in  silence.  They  paused  a  moment 
near  a  clump  of  mastic  and  cactus  bushes,  their 
glances  piercing  into  space,  and  oppressed,  as 
it  were,  by  the  expanse  before  them.  A  sud- 
den noise,  as  of  an  animal  rising  abruptly  from 
a  thicket,  arrested  their  attention,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  they  saw  running  up  the  path  on  the 
side  of  the  acclivity  a  man  carrying  a  gun  that 
glittered  in  the  moonlight. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Davidoff,  in  surprise. 

Pierre  Laurier  looked  at  the  man  attentively, 
and  then  answered : 

"A  custom-house  officer." 

They  paused.  The  man  continued  to  ascend 
the  hill.  Arrived  on  the  flat,  he  looked  at  the 
two  pedestrians  suspiciously.  The  spot  was 
deserted,  although  they  had  left  the  last 
house  not  more  than   two  miles  behind  them, 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE.  19 

but  the  whole  coast  is  a  wild  one  and  favorable 
to  the  enterprises  of  smugglers. 

"Do  you  take  us  for  contrabandists?"  said 
the  artist. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  officer,  "not  now  that 
I  see  you  near  by ;  but  below  there,  when  I 
saw  you  stand  motionless,  I  thought  you  had 
just  given  some  signal." 

"Are  there  smugglers  in  the  country,  then?" 

"Oh,  there  always  are.  It  is  between 
Monaco  and  Vintimille  that  smuggling  is 
most  generally  carried  on.  There  is  not  a 
week  in  which  some  smuggler  is  not  caught. 
And  for  the  past  four  days  we  have  been 
watching  a  vessel  which  is  waiting  the  chance 
to  escape  us.  But  the  scoundrels  will  pay  for 
the  sleepless  nights  they  have  made  us  pass, 
and  if  they  make  any  resistance  they  will  be 
answered  with  musket-shots.  Good-night,  gen- 
tlemen. Do  not  remain  here.  The  place  is  a 
bad  one." 

He  raised  his  hand  in  a  military  salute  to  his 
kepi,  and  then  disappeared  among  the  bushes 
whi^h  served  hin)  for  his  post  of  observation. 


20  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

Pierre  Laurier  and  Davidoff  resumed  their 
walk,  turning  their  steps  toward  the  town. 

"I  envy  the  adventurous  lot  of  the  men  who 
are  the  object  of  the  threats  of  this  fine  sol- 
dier. They  are  sailing  on  the  water  at  this 
moment,  vigilant  and  circumspect,  ready  for 
business  or  for  battle.  Their  affair  finished, 
they  depart  on  a  new  expedition  to  brave  un- 
known dangers.  They  have  no  thought  but 
for  their  hard  and  uncertain  occupation.  I 
should  like  to  be  in  their  place." 

"So !  Count  Woreseff,  whom  I  shall  accom- 
pany in  his  yacht,  leaves  Villefranche  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  He  is  going  to  Egypt;  we 
touch  at  Alexandria,  sail  up  the  Nile  as  far  as 
the  second  cataract,  visit  Thebes,  the  desert, 
and  the  Pyramids.  It  is  an  expedition  that 
will  take  two  months,  with  the  planks  of  a  mag- 
nificent vessel  under  foot  and  the  splendors  of 
an  Eastern  sky  overhead.  You  know  how 
happy  the  Count  would  be  to  take  you  with 
him.  You  would  be  occupied  ;  you  would  hunt. 
And  above  all,  you  would  forget." 

"No!     I  should  be  too  tranquil,  too  much 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  2i 

spoiled,  too  happy,  in  your  company.  I  should 
have  to  brave  none  of  those  dangers  that  absorb 
all  one's  faculties.  I  should  have  no  crushing 
hardships  to  endure.  Everything  around  me 
would  savor  too  much  of  civilization.  What  I 
need  is  to  lead  the  life  of  a  savage.  If  you 
could  promise  to  have  me  captured  by  the 
Touaregs,  who  should  take  me  a  prisoner  to 
Timbuctoo,  I  would  follow  you.  In  my  case 
that  would  be  salvation!" 

"I  can  promise  you  no  such  adventures/*  re- 
plied Davidoff,  laughing.  "I  must  therefore 
abandon  you  to  your  fate." 

They  had  stopped  before  a  beautiful  villa, 
painted  rose  color,  whose  windows  shone  in  the 
moonlight  through  the  thick  foliage. 

"It  is  settled — you  will  go  in,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "Good-by,  then,  for  I  do  not  know  if  I 
shall  see  you  to-morrow, — and  good  fortune 
attend  you." 

They  shook  hands,  and  while  the  Russian 
took  his  way  toward  the  city  the  artist  crossed 
the  garden  and  rang  the  dopr-bell.  A  lackey 
opened  the  door  for  him,  and  led  him  into  a 


22  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

vestibule  resembling  a  Moorish  patio,  with  a 
basin  in  the  middle,  on  the  blue  bosom  of 
which  floated  cyprians  with  scales  of  gold. 
Around  the  columns  which  adorned  this  court 
roses  twined.  At  the  further  end  a  white  mar- 
ble staircase  led  to  the  first  story. 

"Is  Madame  at  home?"  asked  Pierre  Lau- 
der. 

"She  is  in  the  little  salon,"  responded  the 
domestic. 

The  young  man  pushed  the  door  open  and 
softly  entered. 

On  a  large  sofa,  reclining  among  silken  cush- 
ions, Clemence  Villa  was  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  a  book.  She  raised  her  head,  stretched  out 
her  arms,  and  then  remained  motionless. 

Pierre  approached  her,  and  bending  over 
her  delicately  modeled  face  kissed  her  on  the 
eyes. 

"How  late  you  are!"  said  the  actress,  with  a 
tranquil  indifference  that  formed  a  contrast  to 
the  reproach  conveyed  in  her  words. 

"Prince  Patrizzi's  dinner  lasted  longer  tlian  I 
bad  .supposed  it  would/'  he  answere4. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  2% 

"Did  you  enjoy  yourself." 

"Less  than  if  you  had  been  with  us." 

**I  have  a  horror  of  Patrizzi." 

"Why?" 

"I  feel  that  he  hates  me." 

"No,  he  does  not  hate  you:  but  he  loves 
me." 

"Well,  can  he  not  love  you  without  hating 
me?" 

"He  would  like  you  if  you  did  not  make  me 
unhappy." 

"Ah,  the  old  story!" 

The  young  woman  snapped  her  fingers, 
threw  her  book  to  the  further  end  of  the 
salon,  and  with  a  gesture  of  displeasure  turned 
over  on  the  sofa,  with  her  face  toward  the 
wall. 

"Come,  Clemence,  let  us  be  at  peace,"  said 
the  artist ;  "let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

The  actress,  however,  her  face  buried  among 
the  cushions,  replied  in  a  sharp  voice,  without 
turning  around  • 

"Your  Patrizzi  has  been  making  advances  to 
me,  as  you  already  know,  and  it  is  because  I 


H  THE  SOUL  OF  Pierre. 

would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him  that  he  dis- 
likes me." 

The  countenance  of  Laurier  was  contracted 
with  pain,  as  he  asked  ironically: 

*'And  why  did  you  make  so  unflattering  an 
exception  in  his  case?" 

Clemence  Villa  sprang  to  her  feet  at  a  bound, 
and  red  with  anger,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her 
brow  contracted  in  a  frown,  pointed  to  the 
door  with  a  trembling  hand,  saying : 

"My  dear  fellow,  if  you  have  come  here  to 
treat  me  with  insolence,  you  can  take  yourself 
off  again." 

"Oh,  I  know  how  little  you  care  for  me ;  you 
have  never  allowed  me  to  remain  in  ignorance 
on  that  point,"  said  the  painter  with  a  des- 
pondent gesture. 

"Then  why  do  you  not  leave  me?  If  you 
were  good-tempered,  even,  I  could  understand 
your  obstinacy  on  that  point.  But  you 
divide  your  time  between  abusing  me  to  your 
friends  and  insulting  me  here.  And  all  because 
I  will  not  yield  to  your  caprices,  and  shut  my- 
self   up   to   live   alone   with   you.      What   an 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  25 

enchanting  prospect!  In  short,  you  are  an 
ingrate.  I  was  very  fond  of  you — oh,  you 
know  it  very  well!  For  before  you  became 
crazy,  you  were  an  agreeable  and  charming  fel- 
low. But  the  fact  is  that,  for  the  past  three 
months,  you  have  completely  lost  your  head, 
so,  good-night.  As  for  me,  I  don't  know  how 
to  take  care  of  mad  people:  go  to  a  lunatic 
asylum.*' 

She  leaned  against  the  chimney-piece  as  she 
spoke,  and,  set  off  by  her  loose  robe  of  ruby- 
colored  plush,  her  dark  skin  gleamed  like  ivory. 
Her  small  head  covered  with  curls,  set  on  a 
rather  long  neck,  was  of  an  exquisite  grace,  and 
her  bosom,  enclosed,  like  a  jewel  in  its  setting, 
in  costly  Malines  lace,  heaved  with  her  haughty 
anger. 

Pierre  slowly  approached  her,  and  seating 
himself  on  a  low  seat,  almost  at  her  feet, — 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  am  unhappy, 
because  I  love  you,  and  I  am  jealous." 

She  looked  at  him  sternly  and  in  a  cutting 
voice  said : 

"So  much  the  worse.     Because   I   am   no 


26  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


more  disposed  to  put  up  with  your  jealousy 
than  with  your  brutaHty.  For  some  time  past 
I  have  had  to  make  an  effort  not  to  tell  you 
so.  But  I  have  had  enough  of  it  now.  It  is 
over !  it  is  over !  it  is  over !  You  may  spare 
yourself  the  trouble  of  returning." 

The  artist  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"You  are  dismissing  me?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  am  dismissing  you." 

He  remained  silent  for  an  instant,  as  if  he 
hesitated  to  put  his  thought  into  words. 
Then  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  he  feared  to  provoke 
the  answer  he  foresaw  he  should  receive, — 

"Do  you  love  another,  then?"  he  asked. 

"What  does  that  matter  to  you?  I  love 
you  no  longer;  that  is  all  it  concerns  you  to 
know." 

A  flush  mounted  to  the  face  of  the  young 
man ;  his  hands  trembled,  and  he  bit  the  ends 
of  his  mustache,  but  affecting  a  smiling 
indifference, — 

"Tell  me,  at  least,"  he  said,  "if  you  have 
given  me  a  worthy  successor.  One  must  have 
a  little  pride." 


THE   SOUL   Of  PIERRE.  27 


"Make  yourself  easy  on  that  score,"  inter- 
rupted Clemence  sharply;  "I  shall  lose  noth- 
ing by  the  change.  He  is  young,  he  is  rich, 
he  is  handsome.  And  then  he  has  inter- 
ested me  for  a  long  time  past.  Besides,  you 
know  him;  he  is  a  friend  of  yours." 

And  while  the  artist,  thunderstruck  at  such 
audacity,  asked  himself  whether  he  was  dream- 
ing or  awake,  the  young  woman  continued, 
with  relentless  cruelty  and  dropping  her  words 
one  by  one  like  drops  of  poison : 

**You  have  just  left  him ;  you  dined  together 
this  evening." 

"Davidoff?"  exclaimed  Pierre. 

"Imbecile!"  sneered  Clemence.  "That  Rus- 
sian cynic  who  despises  women,  and  who 
would  rule  them  with  the  knout!  Do  you 
think  me  so  stupid?  No,  the  man  who  has 
captivated  my  fancy  is  a  charming  fellow,  gen- 
tle, melancholy,  rather  delicate  in  health,  but 
who  believes  in  love  and  surrenders  himself  to 
it  without  reserve." 

Pierre  started  to  his  feet  at  these  words,  and 
seizing  the  actress  by  the  wrists,  forced  her  to 


28  THk  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

listen  to  him,  notwithstanding  her  resistance. 
Their  faces  were  close  together,  their  glances 
met  for  an  instant.  They  remained  thus  for  a 
few  moments,  breathing  hatred  and  rage.  At 
last  the  painter  said  in  a  trembling  voice : 

"You  mean  Jacques  de  Vignes." 

"I  do." 

"Do  you  know  that  his  lungs  are  seriously 
affected?" 

"Even  so;  he  pleases  me.  I  will  nurse 
him.  A  disinterested  affection  has  always  had 
a  charm  for  me." 

"It  is  in  order  to  torture  me  that  you  have 
invented  this  story.  Confess  that  there  is  not 
a  word  of  truth  in  all  you  have  said." 

"You  shall  see  whether  there  is  or  not." 

"Clemence,  take  care." 

The  young  woman's  eyes  flashed  with  anger. 
She  turned  to  pull  the  bell,  but  in  her  haste 
her  feet  caught  in  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
Pierre  was  just  in  time  to  seize  her  arm  and 
prevent  her  from  falling. 

"You  threaten  me  in  my  own  house?"  she 
cried.     "Well,  then,   I  shall  accept  him.    Yes, 


THE  SOVL  OP  PIERRE.  ^9 

I    shall  accept  him;    and  it  will   be  all  your 
fault." 

The  painter,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust, 
pushed  her  from  him  so  abruptly  that  she  fell 
backward  on  the  sofa.  He  took  his  hat  and  in 
a  choking  voice  said : 

"Infamous  creature!  I  had  rather  die  now, 
than  return  to  you.  I  shall  never  see  you 
again  !'* 

He  pushed  the  door  violently  open  with  his 
clenched  hand,  as  if  to  vent  on  inert  matter 
the  anger  he  could  not  vent  on  the  woman  who 
had  called  it  forth,  and  with  rapid  steps  went 
out  into  the  garden.  He  heard  the  electric 
bell  ring  behind  him  under  the  quick  pressure 
of  an  angry  touch,  the  steps  of  the  servant 
sounding  on  the  pavement  of  the  vestibule, 
and  the  sharp  tones  of  Clemence  issuing  her 
orders.  He  did  not  stay  to  hear  further.  He 
felt  a  rage  that  gave  him  a  desire  to  kill  some 
one.  He  had  left  Clemence  lest  he  should  be 
tempted  to  strike  her.  But  here  under  the 
starry  sky,  his  brow  fanned  by  the  cool  sea- 
breezes  laden  with  the  perfume  of  the  orange- 


^O  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


blossoms,  he  began  to  feel  a  bitter  sense  of 
shame.  Was  it  possible  that  for  this  woman's 
sake  he  had  during  the  past  year  committed 
all  the  miserable  follies  that  now  came  throng- 
ing to  his  memory?  After  spending  all  hi-, 
fortune  in  order  to  supply  the  extravagance  of 
Clemence,  he  had  borrowed  for  the  same  pur- 
pose from  his  friends.  His  genius,  dissipated 
by  a  life  of  pleasure,  had  produced  no  fruit,  and 
he  had  spent  whole  days  in  his  studio  dream- 
ing of  pictures  which  he  had  never  had  the 
courage  to  undertake.  And  all  for  this  jade 
who  had  deceived  him.  It  was  in  truth  too 
stupid ;  she  was  right  to  despise  him  for  it,  and 
it  was  an  undeserved  piece  of  good  fortune 
for  him  that  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head  to 
dismiss  him. 

He  felt  himself,  at  this  moment,  once  more 
master  of  his  destiny.  He  was  delivered  from 
the  ghoul  who  had  sapped  his  mental  strength 
at  the  same  time  that  she  had  tortured  his 
heart.  He  was  himself  again,  and  he  was  de- 
termined to  prove  by  his  works  that  he  was 
not,  as  people  had  begun  to  say,  a  wreck. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  %\ 

"Yes,  she  shall  see  what  I  am  capable  of, 
now  that  I  am  free  from  her,"  he  cried.  "Be- 
fore a  month  is  past  she  shall  wish  me  back 
from  vanity  if  not  from  love !" 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through 
his  mind  he  was  walking  along  the  sea-shore 
on  the  road  that  led  to  Vintimille.  In  his 
agitation  he  had  walked  a  great  distance  with- 
out being  aware  of  it.  The  lights  of  Monaco 
had  disappeared  in  the  distance,  and  he  found 
himself  alone,  at  the  foot  of  a  rugged  cliff. 
At  his  feet  stretched  the  rocky  shore,  on  which 
the  waves  broke  with  a  monotonous  sound. 
Occasionally  a  stray  cloud  passing  across  the 
moon  hid  its  light,  plunging  everything  into 
obscurity.  Pierre  sat  down  on  a  sandy  hillock 
by  the  roadside,  and  lulled  by  the  profound 
peace  surrounding  him,  he  fell  into  a  revery. 

He  had  now  become  calmer;  his  anger  had 
vanished,  and  he  tried  to  form  a  clear  idea  of 
his  situation.  He  had  made  excellent  resolu- 
tions, but  would  he  have  sufficient  strength  of 
mind  to  carry  them  out?  He  knew  how  little 
dependence  he  could  place  on  his  force  of  char- 


32  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

acter.  A  dozen  times  already  he  had  sworn 
never  again  to  see  the  woman  who  had 
wrecked  his  Hfe,  and  each  time  he  had  re- 
turned to  her,  weaker  than  the  last,  and  as  a 
consequence  was  more  ill-treated  than  before. 
But  he  had  borne  everything  in  order  to  obtain 
a  caress  from  her.  Strange  madness,  which, 
reducing  him  to  this  state  of  bondage,  left  him 
sense  enough  to  form  a  correct  judgment  of 
the  woman  who  held  him  in  thrall,  but  not 
enough  courage  to  withdraw  from  her  evil 
dominion. 

"After  declaring  so  violently  that  I  would 
never  see  her  again,"  he  said  to  himself,  "can  it 
be  possible  that  I  should  be  weak  enough  to 
present  myself  before  her  to-morrow?  No," 
he  cried  aloud  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 
But,  as  if  to  put  his  resolution  to  the  test,  the 
face  of  Clemence  with  its  brilliant  and  seduc- 
tive eyes  appeared  before  him.  He  could  see 
it  distinctly,  smiling  with  a  defiant  air,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  he  could  hear  from  her  lips  the 
words  he  had  heard  so  often : 

"You  leave  me?    You  have  not  the  strength 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  33 

to  do  so.  I  might  dismiss  you  and  you  would 
come  back  to  me  again,  like  a  beaten  dog, 
faithful  to  his  master.  Do  you  think  you 
could  live  without  me?  Am  I  not  necessary 
to  your  existence?  Without  me,  the  world 
for  you  is  a  void,  where  you  can  find  only 
ennui,  disgust,  weariness,  and  regrets.  Come 
back  to  me  then !  Pretend  no  silly  pride.  I 
send  you  away  to-day,  but  I  expect  you  back 
to-morrow.  These  are  the  quarrels  of  lovers, 
who  fall  out,  and  then  kiss  each  other  all  the 
more  passionately  for  their  momentary  anger." 

The  temptress  evoked  by  his  feverish  imagi- 
nation smiled  at  him,  and  with  her  white  arm 
beckoned  him  on.  He  could  see  her  distinctly, 
with  the  light  falling  upon  her  in  her  room. 
His  heart  beat  to  suffocation,  and  with  a  sigh 
he  rose  to  his  feet  to  go  and  rejoin  her. 

A  cool  breeze  blowing  across  his  forehead  re- 
called him  from  his  dream,  and  he  found  him- 
self once  more  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  the  sea 
stretching  before  him,  far  away  from  the  town, 
and  the  image  of  the  woman  who  had  so  com- 
pletely subjugated  him,  vanished  in  the  moon- 


34  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


light.  He  trembled  to  find  himself  so  com- 
pletely in  her  power.  If  he  had  been  in  front 
of  her  villa  instead  of  on  the  sea-shore,  in  an 
instant  more,  without  giving  himself  time  for 
reflection,  he  would  have  been  at  her  feet.  A 
paroxysm  of  rage  seized  him.  She  spoke 
truly,  then ;  the  apparition  of  a  moment  since 
had  dared  him  to  break  his  chain.  What 
should  he  do  then,  so  that  he  might  never 
again  fall  into  the  power  of  this  fatal  woman? 
Would  space  sufifice  to  separate  him  from  her? 
How  could  he  say  that  in  some  moment  of 
madness  he  would  not  again  return  to  her? 
Calm  as  he  was  now,  completely  in  possession 
of  his  senses,  strong  in  the  hatred  which  had 
revived  again  within  him,  he  did  not  dare  to 
question  himself  lest  he  should  be  obliged  to 
confess  that  there  was  no  power  strong  enough 
to  keep  him  from  her. 

A  feeling  of  despair  and  profound  dis- 
couragement came  over  him.  Yet  he  compre- 
hended all  the  unworthiness  of  his  life,  all  the 
baseness  of  his  conduct,  all  the  ignominy  of  his 
complaisance.     She  deceived  him  and  he  knew 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE.  35 

it,  yet  he  had  not  sufficient  pride  to  resolve  to 
see  her  no  more.  And  what  anguish,  what  re- 
grets did  this  existence  contain,  that  would 
become  more  miserable,  the  weaker  he  showed 
himself  to  be !  And  what  would  be  the  end  of 
it?  An  unworthy  death  in  some  jealous  trans- 
port, a  senseless  and  degrading  suicide  that 
would  drag  his  name  into  the  newspapers,  in- 
flicting suffering  on  the  few  friends  who  should 
still  remain  faithful  to  him.  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  end  everything  at  once,  here,  under 
the  deep  blue  sky,  the  sea  stretching  before 
him,  while  he  was  still  worthy  to  cause  sincere 
tears  to  flow? 

He  remained  wrapped  in  meditation,  bathed 
in  the  tranquil  light  of  the  moon,  surrounded 
by  fragrant  odors.  And  little  by  little  his 
thoughts  were  turned  away  from  the  woman 
who  was  his  evil  genius. 

A  peaceful  and  smiling  dwelling,  hidden 
among  trees,  now  appeared  before  his  mind. 
It  was  that  in  which  his  friend  Jacques  de 
Vignes  lived,  with  his  mother  and  sister.  Life 
would  have  smiled  upon  them  bad  not  illness, 


36  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

alarming  and  rapid  in  its  progress,  attacked  this 
handsome  and  once  robust  young  man  so 
ardently  attached  to  life.  What  did  they  lack 
in  order  to  be  happy?  Health,  for  the  son 
and  brother  so  passionately  loved,  health  only. 
But,  irony  of  fate,  each  day  Jacques  grew 
more  sad,  more  weak,  more  bent,  as  if  to  draw 
nearer  to  the  earth  which  must  soon  hide  him 
from  view.  And  he  was  in  despair  about  it, 
while  Pierre  would  so  gladly  have  given  up  his 
life  at  this  moment  when,  overwhelmed  with 
vexations,  he  reckoned  it  of  so  little  worth.  If 
he  had  been  able  to  make  a  compact  with 
his  friend,  and  to  cede  him  his  own  supera- 
bundance of  strength,  would  this  not  be  sufifi- 
cient  health  for  the  sad  and  suffering  young 
man  whom  he  loved  so  tenderly? 

At  this  moment  the  story  of  Dr.  DavidofT 
came  back  to  his  mind,  and  a  bitter  smile 
crossed  his  lips.  If  this  strange  resurrection  of 
which  the  doctor  had  told  were  possible,  if  the 
spell  could  be  made  to  work,  and  if  it  were 
granted  to  him  to  make  his  soul  pass,  miserable 
and  tortured  as  he  was,  into  the  languishing 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  37 


body  of  his  friend,  in  whom  the  force  to  live 
was  so  completely  wanting,  would  it  not  be  a 
blessed  miracle? 

He  bowed  down  his  head  with  sudden 
grief.  He  said  to  himself:  "She  told  me  she 
loved  him.  If  I  were  to  become  he,  I  should 
then  be  beloved  by  her?  I  should  enjoy  her 
beauty  and  her  grace.  For  me  should  be  all 
her  smiles  and  all  her  kisses."  He  trembled. 
It  was  so  long  since  there  had  been  tenderness 
in  the  caresses  of  her  he  still  adored.  He  felt 
this  now,  without  illusion  or  self-deceit,  and 
yet  he  could  not  resolve  to  leave  her. 

In  the  silence  of  the  night,  surrounded  by 
the  rocks,  before  him  the  immensity  of  the  sky 
and  sea,  he  gathered  together  all  the  strength  of 
his  will  for  a  supreme  invocation.  He  called  to 
his  aid  all  the  invisible  powers.  "If  they  exist 
as  has  been  affirmed,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"around  us,  in  the  air;  if,  impalpable  as  the  air, 
mysterious  beings  surround  us,  let  them  reveal 
themselves  to  me  by  some  sign  which  I  can 
comprehend,  and  I  shall  be  ready  to  obey  them. 
I  deliver  myself  up  to  them  in  self-sacrifice.     A 


38  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

being  of  flesh  and  blood,  I  shall  enter  the 
realm  of  the  spiritual  and  I  shall  leave  exist- 
ence with  delight  so  that  I  be  no  longer 
myself,  and,  as  a  consequence,  be  in  pain  no 
longer,  no  longer  groan  and  sigh.  Let  them 
speak  to  me  in  the  whisper  of  the  breeze,  the 
murmur  of  the  waves,  the  rustling  of  the 
leaves,  and  to  reach  them  I  will  pass  through 
the  gate  of  death." 

As  he  finished  this  incantation  he  shuddered, 
terrified  at  the  solitude  in  which  he  found  him- 
self. He  looked  fearfully  around  him.  The 
cliff,  the  sea,  the  sky  were  silent  and  solitary. 
Suddenly  the  moon  showed  herself  between 
the  clouds,  and  in  the  luminous  space  it 
seemed  to  Pierre  that  white  spectres  passed. 
He  looked  down  at  the  expanse  of  waters 
before  him,  and  will-o'-the-wisps  appeared 
among  the  rocks  on  the  shore.  Hither  and 
thither  they  passed,  brilliant  and  light,  vanish- 
ing and  reappearing  ceaselessly,  like  the  souls 
of  shipwrecked  mariners  haunting  the  breakers 
on  which  the  bodies  they  had  inhabited  had 
penshe4» 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  39 


Fascinated,  Pierre  was  unable  to  take  his 
eyes  from  these  vaporous  phantoms,  these 
wandering  lights,  and  a  species  of  torpor  took 
possession  of  him.  Murmuring  sounds  filled 
his  ears.  At  first  confused,  they  gradually 
resolved  themselves  into  these  words,  like  a 
chant :  "Come  with  us,  where  suffering  no 
longer  exists.  Die  in  order  to  live  again, 
reincarnated  in  a  being  of  your  choice.  Come 
with  us!" 

Pierre  made  an  effort  to  rid  himself  of  this 
hallucination,  but  without  success.  He  felt 
himself  deprived  of  force,  incapable  of  making 
a  movement,  as  if  he  were  in  a  state  of  cata- 
lepsy. His  gaze  penetrated  the  depths  of  the 
sea  and  the  sky,  and  supernatural  accents 
vibrated  in  his  ears.  He  thought  to  himself: 
"The  revelation  I  demanded  has  been  made. 
Spirits  have  manifested  themselves  to  me. 
I  believe  in  them,  I  will  obey  them, — but  let 
them  cease  to  possess  me." 

As  if  he  had  pronounced  a  magic  formula  the 
vision  disappeared,  the  chant  ceased.  He  rose 
and  walked  along  the  deserted  shore,  and  he 


40  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

might  have  thought  that  he  had  been  dream- 
ing. But  he  did  not  think  so.  He  hoped  the 
vision  might  be  real ;  he  saw  in  it  the  deHghtful 
end  of  all  his  ills. 

Ascending  to  the  summit  of  the  cliffs,  he 
stood  there,  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
wrote  these  words  on  a  card  : 

"My  dear  Jacques:  I  am  of  no  use  to 
others  and  I  am  hurtful  to  myself.  I  wish  to 
end  this.  I  ami  going  to  try  the  experiment 
which  Davidoff  described  to  us.  You  are  the 
being  I  love  most  on  earth.  I  make  you  a 
present  of  my  soul.  Live  happy  through  me, 
and  for  me." 

He  signed  the  card  with  his  name,  and  tak- 
ing his  hat  passed  the  folded  paper  between 
the  felt  and  the  silk  band.  He  tranquilly 
divested  himself  of  his  overcoat  and  placed  it 
at  the  side  of  the  path  together  with  his  hat ; 
then  with  quick  steps  went  down  again  toward 
the  sea.  The  coast  curved  at  this  point,  form- 
ing a  little  bay,  where  the  waves  died  away 
with  a  gentle  murmur.  A  path,  running  up 
the  side  of  the  cliff,  led  to  a  little  fishing  vil- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  41 

lage.  The  attention  of  Pierre  was  attracted  by 
a  bark  coming  slowly  toward  him,  impelled  by 
the  breeze  that  swelled  out  its  low  sail.  It 
seemed  to  be  empty,  but  when  it  reached  the 
strand  sailors  made  their  appearance  every- 
where. At  the  same  time  men  sallied  from 
behind  the  rock,  and  entering  the  water  went 
toward  the  boat.  Bales  and  casks  encumbered 
the  stern  of  the  vessel. 

The  painter,  interested,  notwithstanding  his 
depression,  guessed  that  these  were  the  smug- 
glers of  whom  the  custom-house  officer  had 
spoken.  He  sought  this  latter  with  his  glance 
among  the  brushwood  behind  which  he  had 
hidden  himself.  He  had  doubtless  quitted  his 
post,  for  there  was  no  sign  of  movement  on  the 
cliff.  The  men  from  the  rocks  had  joined 
those  on  board  the  boat,  which  they  had 
already  begun  to  unload,  when  a  whistle  from 
the  summit  of  the  cliff  interrupted  the  opera- 
tion. The  men  ran  along  the  beach,  the  sailors 
hastened  to  put  out  to  sea.  At  the  same 
moment  a  shot  was  heard  in  the  silence,  and  a 
red  flame   lighted  up   the  rocks.     It  was  the 


42  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 


custom-house  officer  who  thus  made  known  his 
presence.  At  another  point  near  by  another 
shot  was  heard,  and  shadowy  forms  ran  up  the 
side  of  the  rock.  The  men  climbed  up  the 
path  with  their  bales,  the  smugglers  pushed 
their  boat  out  into  deep  water.  During  this 
maneuver  a  sailor  fell  overboard.  Signals 
were  heard.  It  was  the  custom-house  officers 
assembling.  The  boat  reached  the  open  sea, 
and  the  swimmer,  left  behind,  cried  out  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  lungs.  His  movements 
gradually  became  wilder  and  his  voice  more 
feeble.  Pierre  felt  touched  by  the  heartrend- 
ing accents  of  this  fellow-creature.  A  moment 
before  he  had  thought  only  of  dying,  now  he 
wished  to  save  life.  He  hurried  toward  the 
beach,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  narrowly 
escaping  several  shots  as  he  ran,  reached  the 
water,  and  throwing  himself  into  the  sea  swam 
vigorously  toward  the  drowning  man.  A  few 
hundred  yards  away  the  boat  had  stopped. 
The  smugglers  had  disappeared  in  the  brush- 
wood at  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  and  on  the 
sea,  polished  as  a  mirror,  the  moon  cast  her 
cold  and  tranquil  light. 


II. 


NEAR  the  sea-shore,  on  the  charming  road 
that  leads  from  Monaco  to  Nice,  between 
Eze  and  Villefranche,  but  nearer  to  the  latter, 
in  a  little  bay  formed  by  an  abrupt  fissure  of 
the  cliff  stands  a  villa  painted  in  red  and  white, 
its  terrace,  covered  with  oranges  and  mimosas, 
stretching  down  into  the  water.  Fir  trees, 
with  red  trunks  and  large  branches,  juniper 
trees  with  their  blue-green  foliage,  black  thuyas, 
grow  together  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  among 
fragments  of  rock,  in  the  midst  of  briars,  fram- 
ing in  with  wild  vegetation  this  tranquil  valley, 
isolated  and  silent.  A  little  harbor,  protected 
by  a  natural  jetty  of  reefs,  against  which  the 
waves  break  in  clouds  of  spray,  contains,  two 
pleasure-boats,  motionless  in  the  calm  and  trans- 
parent waters  to  which  the  marine  plants  at 
the  bottom  give  an  emerald-green  tinge.  The 
red  earth  absorbs  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  heats 
43 


44  The  soul  of  pierrE. 

the  atmosphere  of  this  sheltered  spot  where  all 
day  the  temperature  of  a  hothouse  reigns.  In 
the  evening  the  air  is  exhilarating  and  laden 
with  the  exquisite  odors  exhaled  by  trees 
whose  leaves  never  fall,  of  flowers  that  renew 
themselves  ceaselessly.  Little  fishing-boats, 
plying  between  Beaulieu  and  Monaco,  sail 
across  the  open  sea  and  give  an  air  of  life  to 
the  horizon  as  they  slowly  pass.  The  noise  of 
the  railroad  that  runs  behind  the  villa  is  the 
only  sound  that  disturbs  the  silence  of  this 
peaceful  spot.  Here  it  was  that,  two  months 
before,  Madame  de  Vignes  came  to  establish 
herself  with  her  son  and  daughter,  far  from 
the  agitation  of  the  Parisian  world,  in  the 
sweet  and  salubrious  repose  of  this  enchanting 
country. 

Left  a  widow  at  thirty,  after  a  married  life 
made  stormy  by  a  dissipated  husband,  Madame 
de  Vignes  had  consecrated  herself  with  exalted 
intelligence  and  profound  wisdom  to  the  educa- 
tion of  her  children.  Jacques,  a  tall  and  hand- 
some boy,  of  an  impassioned  soul  and  enthu- 
siastic nature,  in  spite  of  prudent  counsels  daily 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  45 

received,  soon  gave  signs  of  having  inherited 
his  father's  faults.  His  sister  Juliette,  four 
years  younger  than  he,  had,  by  a  happy  con- 
trast, inherited  all  her  mother's  serious  wisdom. 
So.  that  if  the  one  was  a  source  of  grave 
anxiety  to  the  mother,  the  other  seemed  made 
to  console  her  for  it.  With  these  two,  so  dif- 
ferent from  each  other,  Madame  de  Vignes, 
up  to  the  age  of  forty,  lived  a  comparatively 
tranquil  life.  Jacques,  extremely  intelligent 
and  tolerably  industrious,  had  finished  his 
studies  with  brilliant  success.  His  health,  deli- 
cate during  his  childhood,  had  become  stronger 
as  he  grew  up,  and  when  he  attained  his  major- 
ity, ho  was,  with  his  tall  stature,  his  long  blonde 
mustache,  and  his  blue  eyes,  one  of  the  most 
charming  young  men  one  could  see.  He  made 
!io  delay  in  abusing  these  advantages. 

Put  in  possession  of  his  father's  fortune,  he 
had  freed  himself  from  domestic  restraints  by 
installing  himself  in  a  handsome  bachelor's 
apartment,  and  begun  to  lead  a  gay  life.  He 
remembered,  however,  from  time  to  time  to  ask 
9^  invitation  to  dinner  from  his  mother.     On 


4^  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRR. 

these  occasions  he  was  often  accompanied  by- 
one  of  the  companions  of  his  childhood,  Pierre 
Laurier.  On  such  evenings  it  was  a  festival  at 
the  villa,  and  Juliette  lavished  her  tenderest 
attentions  on  her  brother  and  her  sweetest 
smiles  on  his  friend,  who,  she  imagined,  rightly 
or  wrongly,  had  an  influence  in  bringing  about 
these  returns  of  the  prodigal  son.  The  even- 
ing passed  joyously,  thanks  to  the  original  turn 
of  mind  of  the  painter. 

And  while  these  hours  fled  all  too  rapidly, 
the  young  girl,  for  Mademoiselle  de  Vignes 
was  at  that  time  only  fourteen,  was  ecstati- 
cally happy  in  the  society  of  the  two  young 
men. 

Pierre  Laurier  with  his  intelligent  and 
mobile  countenance,  his  piercing  eyes,  his  sar- 
castic mouth,  and  thoughtful  brow,  had  for  a 
long  time  inspired  her  with  fear.  But  she  had 
soon  discovered  that  his  strange  moods  were 
only  the  consequence  of  his  artistic  preoccupa- 
tions, and  that  his  mocking  accents  served  to 
mask  the  confiding  goodness  of  his  heart.  In 
the  midst  of  his  fantastic  discourse  she  could 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  47 

very  well  discern  his  love  for  his  art,  to  which 
he  was  devotedly  attached,  and  in  his  passion- 
ate sallies  she  saw  flash  forth  a  love  for  the 
true  and  the  beautiful.  She  divined,  with 
singular  penetration,  that  the  painter  made 
every  possible  effort  to  restrain  Jacques  in  his 
dissipated  life,  and  that  the  influence  he  ex- 
ercised over  him  could  not  but  prove  favorable. 
This  had  made  her  like  him  all  the  more.  And 
then  his  manner  toward  this  child  was  like 
that  of  a  brother.  For  her  he  softened  the 
expression  of  his  skepticism,  and  became  inno- 
cent and  playful  to  adapt  himself  to  her. 

In  this  he  showed  want  of  penetration,  for 
Juliette,  whose  reasoning  powers  had  been 
early  developed,  was  quite  capable  of  compre- 
hending him.  But  Pierre  persisted  in  seeing  in 
her  only  a  little  girl,  and  it  was  always  with 
astonishment  that  he  heard  her,  when  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  into  the  conversa- 
tion, put  forth  in  a  few  timid  phrases  judg- 
ment extraordinarily  just.  He  did  not  give 
her  credit  for  them  indeed;  he  said  to  himself: 
"This  little  girl   is  surprising;  she  remembers 


48  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

what  she  hears  and  brings  it  in  in  the  right 
place.  In  every  woman  there  is  something  of 
the  ape,  to  imitate,  and  of  the  parrot,  to 
repeat !" 

If  Juliette,  however,  had,  where  art  was 
concerned,  a  precious  faculty  of  assimilating 
the  knowledge  of  others,  she  was  altogether 
herself  in  the  tender  effusiveness  of  the  thanks 
she  bestowed  on  Laurier  for  his  protecting 
care  of  her  brother.  Here  she  neither  imitated 
nor  repeated.  It  was  the  very  heart  of  the 
child  that  spoke,  and  the  painter,  however 
absorbed  he  might  be  by  preoccupations  of 
which  Mile,  de  Vignes  was  singularly  ignorant, 
could  not  avoid  being  struck  by  her  emotion 
and  her  gratitude. 

A  little  incident,  of  which  he  had  caught  the 
true  significance,  had  just  occurred,  however, 
which  completely  opened  his  eyes.  He  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  bringing  this  child,  whom 
he  had  known  since  her  infancy,  a  present  on 
Saint  Juliette's  day.  When  she  was  a.  child 
these  presents  had  been  dolls,  extraordinarily 
attired  in  magnificent   robes,  made  according 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  49 

to  the  taste  and  after  the  suggestions  of  the 
painter,  as  if  they  had  been  meant  to  pose  for 
one  of  his  pictures.  Each  time  he  came  to 
partake  of  the  family  dinner,  carrying  in  his 
arms  his  annual  gift,  there  were  exclamations 
of  surprise  and  cries  of  joy.  Laurier  would 
take  the  child  by  the  shoulders,  imprint  a 
sounding  kiss  upon  each  cheek,  and  say  in  his 
sarcastic  accents : 

"This  doll  is  beautiful,  is  it  not?  She  is  a 
Venetian — of  the  time  of  Titian !" 

Then  he  would  begin  to  chat  with  Mme.  de 
Vignes  and  Jacques,  without  taking  any  further 
heed  of  the  little  girl  lost  in  ecstatic  contem- 
plation of  the  porcelain  patrician  dressed  in 
silk  and  gold.  When  Juliette  was  fourteen, 
however,  dolls,  he  began  to  think,  were  now  out 
of  place,  and  he  set  about  finding  a  more  sensi- 
ble gift.  He  selected  a  little  work-box  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  garnished  with  beautiful 
implements  in  silver  gilt,  of  exquisite  design, 
and,  according  to  his  habit,  arrived  with  it  at 
the  dinner  hour.  On  this  particular  evening 
only   Jacques    was    in   the   salon.      The   two 


50  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


friends  shook  hands,  and  Laurier  asking  where 
Juliette  was, — 

"My  mother  is  dressing  her,"  answered 
Jacques.  "It  is  an  important  affair — her  first 
long  dress.  Our  friends  have  wished  to  cele- 
brate the  occasion.  So,  what  do  you  think ! 
Her  hair  also  had  to  be  arranged  differently. 
It  would  not  do,  as  formerly,  to  wear  one's 
hair  hanging  loose  over  one's  shoulders — a 
chignon  was  a  necessity!" 

He  was  still  laughing  when  the  door  opened, 
and  instead  of  the  little  girl  Laurier  expected 
to  see,  a  young  girl,  a  little  timid,  a  little  awk- 
ward, altogether  changed,  but  charming,  entered 
the  room.  She  did  not  run  to  the  painter  as 
usual  with  girlish  curiosity.  She  extended  to 
him  her  hand  gracefully,  and  paused,  silent 
and  embarrassed,  before  the  two  young  men. 
Pierre  observed  her  with  a  smile. 

"You  look  very  well  so,  Juliette,"  he  said. 
"If  I  might  be  allowed  to  make  a  slight  criti- 
cism, I  would  say  that  I  disapprove  of  the  little 
curls  over  the  forehead.  You  have  a  beauti- 
fully shaped  face,  and  the  hair  well  set.     Put 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  5 1 


them  back  then,  uncompromisingly.  It  looks 
younger,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  very  becom- 
ing to  you." 

Then,  taking  from  his  pocket  the  present  he 
had  brought, — 

"See,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  useful  article.  I, 
also,  treat  you  like  a  grown-up  person  to-day." 

"Oh,  how  pretty !"  she  cried,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling with  joy.     "Look,  Jacques!" 

"This  is  an  object  of  art,  my  child.  This 
painter  has  committed  an  extravagance.  You 
should  give  him  a  kiss,  at  least." 

This  had  been  her  habit.  For  many  years 
past  Pierre  had  kissed  Juliette  on  this  day,  and 
yet  they  remained,  for  an  instant,  facing  each 
other  in  embarrassment.  Was  it  the  long 
dress  or  the  new  mode  of  arranging  her  hair 
that  caused  them  both  this  embarrassment? 
Or  was  it  rather  this  sudden  blooming  of  the 
child  into  the  young  girl,  like  a  rosebud  open- 
ing in  the  sunshine.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
painter  did  not  now  feel,  as  on  former  oc- 
casions, the  spontaneous  impulse  to  give  a 
l)rotherly  kiss  to  Juliette, 


52  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

It  was  necessary  for  Jacques,  who  observed 
them  with  some  surprise,  to  say : 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?  Don't  you  know 
each  other  any  longer?" 

Then  Mile,  de  Vignes  took  a  step  forward, 
Pierre  took  two,  and  they  found  them- 
selves in  each  other's  arms.  The  young  man 
bent  his  face  down  toward  that  of  his  little 
friend.  She  raised  herself  slightly  on  the 
tips  of  her  toes,  and,  with  strange  emotion, 
Laurier  saw  that  she  trembled  and  turned 
pale  at  his  kiss.  All  the  evening  he  remained 
preoccupied,  speaking  rarely,  as  if  absorbed  by 
some  secret  disquietude. 

From  this  time  on,  in  his  intercourse  with 
Juliette,  he  showed  himself  more  circumspect, 
watching  every  word  he  said.  At  the  same 
time  his  gaze  returned  continually  to  the 
young  girl,  whom  a  week  before  he  had  treated 
like  a  baby.  And  he  could  not  but  confess 
that  a  rapid  transformation  had  taken  place  in 
her.  Her  figure  had  acquired  a  flexible  round- 
ness, her  complexion  a  velvety  brilliance.  Her 
movements  had  lost  the  vivacity  of  childhood 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  53 

and  were  more  restrained  and  elegant.  The 
commonplace  chrysalis  had  opened,  and  a  brill- 
iant butterfly,  which  irresistibly  attracted  the 
attention,  had  emerged  from  it.  This  meta- 
morphosis produced  in  the  mind  of  Pierre  an 
agitation  which  he  found  difficulty  in  mas- 
tering. 

He  began  to  dream  of  things  altogether  dif- 
ferent from  those  which  up  till  now  had  occu- 
pied his  thoughts.  Artistic  triumphs,  the  free 
existence  suited  to  them,  the  stimulus  given 
to  thought  by  variety  of  sensation,  all  that  had 
constituted  the  programme  of  his  life,  in  the 
past,  was  now  regarded  by  him  as  ridiculous 
and  contemptible.  He  thought  now  that  the 
tranquillity  of  domestic  life,  the  peace  of  the 
heart,  the  even  course  of  days  well  employed 
might  contribute  as  surely  as  these  to  the 
achievement  of  great  works,  and  that  there  was 
more  probability  of  inspiration  in  regularity 
of  labor  than  in  spasmodic  efforts.  Marriage 
seemed  to  him  like  a  fresh  source  at  which  to 
acquire  new  vigor.  He  began  to  think  of  set- 
tling down,  of  giving  proof  of  wisdom,  and  be 


54  T^FTE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


allowed  himself  to  regard  Mile,  de  Vigncs  with 
a  tenderness  which  had  nothing  in  common 
with  the  feeling  he  had  entertained  for  her  in 
other  days. 

No  one  perceived  this,  but  JuHette  herself. 
Neither  her  mother,  too  much  occupied  with 
the  dissipation  in  which  Jacques  lived,  nor 
Jacques,  too  much  engaged  with  his  own  pleas- 
ures, suspected  for  an  instant  what  was  passing 
in  the  mind  of  the  painter.  Juliette,  at  first 
astonished  at  this  rapid  change  in  the  senti- 
ments of  her  friend,  then  happy  in  thinking 
herself  loved  by  one  whom  she  regarded  as  a 
superior  being,  was  soon  destined  to  experience 
the  bitterness  of  disappointment.  The  flame 
thus  kindled,  which  had  promised  to  burn  with 
ardor,  was  as  suddenly  extinguished.  Pierre, 
who  of  late  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
house  of  Mme.  de  Vignes,  now  came  only 
occasionally,  as  before.  And  all  the  flattering 
hopes,  cherished  in  secret  by  the  young  girl, 
vanished  like  a  dream. 

She  did  not  easily  resign  herself  to  this 
change,  however,  but  determined  to  discover, 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  55 

if  possible,  the  cause  of  it.  One  evening,  when 
Jacques  came  to  the  house  alone  to  spend 
a  few  moments  with  his  mother,  Juliette 
hazarded  an  expression  of  surprise  at  their  no 
longer  seeing  Pierre  Laurier. 

"Is  he  not  now  in  Paris?"  she  asked. 

"He  is,"  responded  Jacques,  "but  he 
scarcely  ever  leaves  his  studio.  He  has  a 
fever  for  work." 

The  young  girl  breathed  again.  Work  wa« 
a  rival  she  did  not  fear. 

"And  what  is  he  painting?"  she  asked. 

"A  portrait." 

At  these  words,  uttered  carelessly  by  her 
brother,  Juliette  trembled.  She  felt  as  if  they 
contained  a  menace  to  her  peace.  This  por- 
trait could  not  be  an  ordinary  one.  And  this 
work,  to  which  Pierre  devoted  himself  with 
such  ardor,  was  destined  to  have  an  influence 
over  the  destiny  of  them  all.  She  saw 
everything  grow  dark  around  her,  as  if  the 
sun  had  suddenly  hidden  himself  behind  a 
cloud.  Sorrowful  presentiments  oppressed  her 
heart. 


56  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

**And  this  portrait  is  that  of  some  one  he 
knows?"  she  resumed. 

**0h,  of  some  one  he  knows  very  well." 

"Of  whom,  then?" 

"An  actress." 

"What  is  her  name?" 

Jacques  began  to  laugh ;  and  looking  at  his 
sister  in  surprise,  he  said : 

"How  inquisitive  you  are  to-night !  I 
should  like  to  know  how  it  can  possibly  inter- 
est you  to  learn  whether  the  original  of 
Pierre's  portrait  be  called  Mile.  This  or  Mile. 
That." 

"It  interests  me,  however." 

"Well,  then,  the  lady  of  the  portrait  is  Mile. 
Clemence  Villa.  She  is  small,  dark,  has  black 
eyes,  beautiful  teeth,  an  execrable  reputation, 
and  very  little  talent.  Notwithstanding,  she 
has  been  talked  about  and  is  a  great  success. 
Do  you  wish  to  know  what  her  age  is? 
Twenty-four  or  thereabouts.  Her  country? 
Beautiful  Italy,  the  land  of  vermouth  and  sau- 
sages. Her  belief?  She  advocates  the  com- 
munity of  goods,  if  not  where  money  is  con- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  57 

ccrned,  at  least  where  the  heart  is.  But  you 
are  making  me  say  stupid  things.  This  is 
what  comes  of  talking  to  children.  Let  it  suf- 
fice you  to  know  that  the  portrait  is  good, 
and  that  Pierre's  reputation  will  not  suffer 
through  it." 

The  conversation  turned  on  other  things, 
but  the  painful  impression  received  by  Juliette 
remained.  Her  thoughts  dwelt,  in  spite  of 
herself,  on  this  woman  whom  she  could  not 
avoid  thinking  ill  of.  and  she  had  a  jealous  fear 
that  she  was  loved  by  the  artist  who  was  paint- 
ing her  picture.  "It  is  she  who  has  taken  him 
away  from  me,"  she  thought.  *Tt  is  since  he 
has  known  her  that  he  has  ceased  to  visit  us. 
He  is  ashamed  to  come." 

In  her  naive  deductions  Juliette  was  not  far 
from  the  truth.  Pierre  experienced  now,  when 
at  Mme.  de  Vignes'  house,  a  feeling  of  embar- 
rassment. He  felt  that  he  was  observed  by 
the  sister  of  his  friend.  His  conscience  was 
not  at  rest,  and  he  reproached  himself  with 
having  drawn  back  too  suddenly  after  advanc- 
ing with  too  little  consideration.     He  deemed 


1 8  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

himself  blamable,  and  divined  that  he  was 
blamed.  This  inspired  him  with  a  feeling  of 
dissatisfaction  which  kept  him  away  from  the 
girl  he  respected  too  much  to  dream  now  of 
loving.  **You  have  behaved,  my  boy,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "like  a  veritable  scoundrel.  You 
have  risked  endangering  the  peace  of  mind  of 
this  child,  in  order  to  satisfy  a  nascent  caprice, 
and  then  you  have  changed  in  your  feelings 
and  your  thoughts  at  the  will  of  the  first 
worthless  woman  you  chance  to  meet.  Keep 
now  to  your  jades ;  you  are  fit  only  for  them, 
you  are  made  to  understand  each  other.  As- 
pire no  more  to  the  purity,  the  sweetness,  the 
joy  of  a  chaste  and  holy  affection;  look  no 
longer  for  the  innocence,  the  freshness  of  a 
young  girl.  The  snow  that  has  not  been  trod- 
den on  is  not  for  you ;  you  have  chosen  in- 
stead the  mud  which  has  been  trampled  upon 
by  every  passing  foot." 

And  in  order  to  conform  to  the  rule  of  con- 
duct imposed  upon  him  by  his  bitter  cynicism, 
the  painter  threw  himself  into  pleasure  more 
ardently  than  before,  seeking  the  less  to  curb 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRR.  50 

the  excesses  of  Jacques  now  that  he  himself 
participated  in  them. 

Laurier  seemed  made  of  iron ;  he  carried 
both  pleasure  and  work  to  excess.  After 
the  wildest  nights  he  was  to  be  found  in  his 
studio,  palette  in  hand,  as  if  he  had  left  his  bed 
refreshed  after  eight  hours'  sleep.  A  more 
metallic  vibration  than  ordinary  in  his  voice,  a 
more  pronounced  feverishness  in  his  move- 
ments, alone  betrayed  his  fatigue.  And  when 
evening  came,  he  was  ready  to  begin  the  same 
thing  over  again. 

Jacques,  on  the  contrary,  his  form  more  and 
more  bent,  his  chest  more  and  more  hollow, 
and  his  glance  more  and  more  dull,  bore  in  his 
whole  person  the  fearful  traces  of  a  physical 
exhaustion  every  day  more  complete.  His 
mother  tried  to  draw  him  back  to  her,  to 
snatch  him  from  his  killing  mode  of  life.  He 
promised  to  remain  with  her,  to  take  the  reat 
he  needed,  to  break  from  his  habits,  his  friend- 
ships, his  train  of  pleasures.  He  could  not  do 
so,  and  Mme.  de  Vignes  saw,  with  profound 
despair,   the   son   journey   as   the   father  had 


^O  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

done,  on  the  road  of  which  each  stage,  so 
famiHar  to  her,  was  marked  by  anguish,  and 
whose  end  was  swift  and  certain  death. 

The  opening  of  the  Exposition  had  mean- 
time taken  place,  and,  secretly  impelled  by  a 
sharp  feeling  of  curiosity,  Juliette  asked  her 
mother  to  take  her  to  it.  Modern  paintings 
interested  her  only  slightly.  What  attracted 
her  with  irresistible  power  was  the  portrait  of 
Clemence  Villa,  the  sitting  for  which  had  coin- 
cided so  fatally  with  the  change  in  the  senti- 
ments of  Pierre  Laurier.  Accompanied  by 
her  mother,  who  had  no  suspicion  of  her  feel- 
ings. Mademoiselle  de  Vignes  passed  rapidly 
and  with  indifference  through  the  halls  where 
thousands  of  useless  canvases  were  displayed 
to  view  in  their  cold  mediocrity.  Suddenly 
she  stopped ;  before  her,  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
not  twenty  steps  away,  the  portrait  in  a  black 
frame  of  a  woman,  small,  dark,  and  pale,  had 
caught  her  eye.  Instantly,  without  having 
ever  seen  her,  she  had  recognized  whose  it  was. 
It  was  she.  There  was  no  possibility  of  a 
doubt.      No    other   woman   would   have   pos- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  6l 

sessed  this  beauty,  fatal  and  almost  evil,  which 
strikes  a  chill  to  the  heart.  Juliette,  with  an 
effort,  broke  through  the  circle  of  admirers 
standing  before  the  picture,  and  approached  it. 

Her  mother,  following  her,  looked  at  the 
portrait  tranquilly,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  satis- 
faction : 

"Stay,  it  is  the  picture  of  Pierre  Laurier. 
Ah !  it  is  indeed  a  remarkable  portrait." 

Juliette  turned  slightly  pale.  That  which 
her  mother  had  just  said,  she  herself  had 
thought  at  the  same  instant  with  a  profound 
pang.  Yes,  the  picture  was  a  remarkable  one, 
and  the  genius  of  the  painter  had  never  before 
reached  so  high  a  point.  In  the  fine  lights  of 
the  head  covered  with  a  hat  adorned  with 
plumes,  in  the  play  of  light  and  shade,  in  the 
coloring  of  the  shoulders,  draped  in  a  ravish- 
ing costume  of  the  time  of  Louis  XVI.,  in  the 
coquettish  pose  of  the  hand  resting  on  a  walk- 
ing-stick, in  the  brilliance  of  the  eyes  and  in 
the  charm  of  the  smile,  the  inspiration  of  love 
was  betrayed.  He  who  had  seen  so  much 
beauty  in    this  woman,  and    who   had    repro- 


62  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


duced  it  with  so  much  passion,  was  madly  in 
love  with  her.  And  her  voluptuous  grace 
made  this  comprehensible,  if  not  excusable. 

Tears  came  to  the  eyes  of  the  young  girl 
and  her  heart  beat  to  suffocation.  Surrounded 
by  the  admiring  crowd,  who  repeated  aloud  the 
names  of  the  painter  and  of  the  model,  Made- 
moiselle de  Vignes  suffered  horribly.  Two 
young  men  who  had  taken  up  their  stand  be- 
fore the  portrait,  beside  her,  and  who  did  not 
care  whether  they  were  heard  or  not,  ended 
their  eulogies  by  these  words : 

"Besides,  he  is  her  lover." 

Juliette  blushed  as  if  she  had  received  an 
insult,  and,  trembling  at  the  thought  that  she 
might  hear  other  words  which  should  enlighten 
her  still  more  cruelly  regarding  the  mystery 
which  she  was  at  once  eager  and  unwilling  to 
know,  she  drew  her  mother  into  the  next  hall. 

From  this  day  forth  she  became  more  grave, 
with  a  gravity  that  had  in  it  a  shade  of  melan- 
choly, which  did  not,  however,  attract  the 
attention  of  Madame  de  Vignes.  The  two 
women  had  only  too  many  reasons  for  sorrow, 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE  63 


and  Juliette  would  have  astonished  her  mother 
more  by  a  display  of  gayety  than  of  sadness. 
The  summer  passed  in  the  solitude  of  the 
country,  Jacques  continuing  at  the  watering 
places,  Trouville  and  Dieppe,  his  life  of  pleas- 
ure, and  presenting  himself  at  longer  and 
longer  intervals  at  his  mother's  house ;  Pierre 
had  altogether  disappeared,  devoting  himself 
completely  to  work,  as  they  saw  by  the  fre- 
quent appearance  of  canvases  which  bore  his 
name  in  the  picture  shops.  Never  did  time 
appear  longer  or  more  sad  to  the  two  women, 
than  did  the  months  from  June  to  October. 
They  had  leisure  to  think  of  all  the  anxieties 
the  future  had  in  store  for  them. 

The  weather  was  magnificent,  the  sky  was 
v/ithout  a  cloud,  and  a  delicious  warmth  per- 
vaded the  atmosphere.  In  the  evening  the 
mother  and  daughter  walked  in  the  garden, 
watching  the  stars  appearing  one  by  one  in 
the  clear  heavens.  And  the  calmness  of  na- 
ture formed  a  painful  contrast  to  the  agitation 
of  their  minds.  They  walked  beside  each 
other  without  speaking,   for    each  wished    to 


64  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

hide  her  sorrow  from  the  other,  choosing  the 
darkest  walks  so  that  the  expression  on  their 
faces  might  not  be  seen.  They  felt  as  if  sur- 
rounded by  a  void.  The  two  beings  who  for 
them  were  all  the  world  were  far  away,  and 
everything  else  had  become  indifferent  to  them. 
The  charms  of  nature  were  unnoticed  by  them. 
The  sweetness  of  the  breeze  laden  with  the 
aromas  arising  from  the  earth,  the  clearness  of 
the  mysterious  depths  of  the  heavens,  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves  shaken  by  the  breeze 
overhead,  all  that  would  have  charmed  them  if 
they  had  had  beside  them,  to  share  their  feel- 
ings, the  dear  ones  who  were  absent,  left  them 
cold  and  unmoved.  And  every  day,  every 
evening,  the  same  sense  of  weariness  weighed 
heavily  upon  them. 

JuHette  was  developing  rapidly;  she  had 
grown  in  stature  and  her  face  had  become 
charming.  She  was  now  seventeen,  and  her 
gravity  gave  her  a  womanly  air.  Her  mother 
took  delight  in  dressing  her.  The  partiality 
she  had  always  had  for  her  son  did  not  blind 
her  so  completely  as  to  prevent  her  observing 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  H 

the  budding  charms  of  her  daughter.  She 
said  to  the  latter  one  day,  after  having  looked 
at  her  for  a  long  time  in  silence : 

"You  are  really  growing  pretty.*' 

A  smile  flitted  across  Juliette's  face,  and  she 
shook  her  head  without  speaking.  Of  what 
use  was  her  beauty?  He  whom  she  wished  to 
admire  it  was  not  here. 

The  autumn  had  just  set  in,  when  an  alarm- 
ing piece  of  news  summoned  Madame  de 
Vignes  unexpectedly  to  Paris.  Her  son,  after 
having  struggled  foolishly  with  a  weakness  that 
gave  him  no  respite,  had  fallen  suddenly  ill. 
He  had  been  seized  with  a  haemorrhage,  and,  in 
a  dying  condition,  they  had  transported  him  to 
his  mother's  house.  The  anguish  of  this  blow 
cut  short  the  reveries  of  the  young  girl.  She 
adored  her  brother,  and  hastening  to  his  side 
with  her  mother,  she  had  been  terrified  by  the 
state  in  which  she  had  found  him.  He  had 
scarcely  the  strength  to  lift  his  head,  when 
they  entered  his  room.  Of  the  handsome 
Jacques  there  remained  nothing  but  a  shadow. 
A  consultation   of  physicians,   summoned  at 


66  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 

once,  ordered  his  immediate  departure  for  the 
South,  and  since  the  last  of  November  the  de 
Vignes  had  been  installed  in  the  villa  washed 
by  the  waters  of  the  blue  sea,  and  sheltered 
by  pine  and  juniper  trees,  among  the  red 
rocks. 

Here  Jacques  had  grown  better.  Youth  has 
exhaustless  resources.  The  warmth,  the  light, 
the  regularity  of  the  life  he  led,  had  exercised 
their  salutary  influence  upon  him,  and  if  the 
invalid  was  not  completely  cured,  he  had  at 
least  regained  so  much  strength  as  to  leave 
room  for  hope.  He  went  about,  pale,  stooped, 
with  trembling  steps,  shaken  by  fits  of  violent 
coughing,  but  he  lived,  and  with  great  care  he 
might  continue  to  live  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
It  was  not  enough,  however,  for  Jacques  to 
have  obtained  this  result,  and  the  alleviation 
he  had  experienced  in  his  sufferings  did  not 
satisfy  him.  With  strength  his  old  desires 
had  returned,  and  the  impossibility  of  gratify- 
ing them  produced  in  him  an  irritation  which 
betrayed  itself  in  bitter  words  and  violent 
recriminations.     He  was  ceaselessly   contrast- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  67 

ing,  in  his  embittered  mind,  what  he  had  been 
with  what  he  now  was.  His  present  state  of 
debility  seemed  insupportable  when  he  com- 
pared it  with  his  past  activity,  and  he  made 
use  of  his  recovered  strength  only  to  give 
utterance  to  complaints  and  curses.  He  ac- 
cepted his  fate,  not  with  resignation  or  sweet- 
ness, but  with  lamentation  and  bitterness. 

The  arrival  of  Pierre  Laurier,  however,  had 
made  a  happy  diversion  in  his  sufferings.  He 
felt  more  courageous  and  less  hopeless  in  the 
society  of  his  friend.  All  that  he  had  lately 
looked  on  with  indifference  or  disgust  had 
again  begun  to  have  an  attraction  for  him. 
He  no  longer  remained  the  entire  day  stretched 
in  his  chaise  longiie,  or  buried  in  his  willow 
invalid  chair,  on  the  terrace.  He  walked  and 
drove  during  the  warm  hours  of  the  day,  and 
the  diversion  had  a  favorable  influence  on  his 
health.  He  was  less  gloomy,  he  consented  to 
receive  visitors,  and  he  had  not  repulsed  the 
offer  made  him  by  the  painter,  to  bring  to  the 
villa  a  Russian  physician,  a  strange  character, 
regarded  as  a  charlatan  by  his  colleagues,  but 


68  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


celebrated  for  the  extraordinary  cures  he  had 
made. 

Dr.  Davidoff,  installed  at  Monaco  with  his 
friend  Count  Woreseff,  was  the  only  son  of  a 
grain  merchant  of  Odessa,  who  had  left  a  for- 
tune of  ten  millions  at  his  death.  He  had 
therefore  been  able  to  follow  the  dictates  of  his 
fancy,  and,  disdaining  a  regular  practice,  de- 
vote himself  to  the  study  of  humanity  in  its 
physical  ills  and  moral  sufferings.  He  had 
very  soon  succeeded  in  acquiring  an  influence 
over  the  imagination  of  Jacques.  His  system 
was  to  inspire  those  he  treated  with  confidence, 
assuring  them  that  immediate  well-being  would 
be  the  result  of  this  feeling. 

"Have  the  conviction  that  you  will  get 
well,"  he  said  to  Jacques,  "and  you  are  already 
half-way  on  the  road  to  recovery.  Nature  will 
take  care  of  the  rest.  She  only  asks  to  be 
helped  in  her  efforts  to  bring  about  a  cure. 
Above  all  things  it  is  necessary  that  the  sick 
should  not  abandon  hope.  I  have  seen  mira- 
cles wrought  by  the  power  of  the  will  and  by 
foith.    The  effects  pf  the  waters  of  Salette  ^nd 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  69 

of  Lourdes,  in  your  country,  are  due  to  no 
other  cause.  The  virtue  of  the  beverage  is  in 
the  soul  of  him  who  drinks.  Having  the  cer- 
tainty that  the  holy  water  will  produce  its 
effect  upon  him,  he  already  feels  the  ex- 
pected benefit.  This  is  why  it  is  useless  to 
send  the  incredulous  on  those  pilgrimages  in 
search  of  health,  just  as  skeptics  should  not 
assist  at  spiritual  stances.  They  have  within 
them  forces  which  react  against  the  efforts  of 
the  adepts  and  which  neutralize  the  fluids. 
Never,  in  such  circumstances,  will  experiments 
succeed.  In  the  same  way  the  mysterious 
efforts  of  nature  to  efTect  a  cure  will  never 
produce  a  favorable  result  in  an  organization 
weakened  by  fear  and  depressed  by  doubt. 
Jesus,  who  was  one  of  the  greatest  thaumatur- 
gists  of  antiquity,  said  to  those  who  asked  him 
to  cure  them  :  *  Believe  ;  in  faith  is  everything.'  " 
These  curious  theories  of  the  Russian  doctor 
had  begun  by  interesting  Jacques ;  then  the 
seed  sown  had  insensibly  taken  root  in  his 
mind  and  rapidly  borne  fruit.  There  were 
Jiours  cjuring  whiph  the  sick  man  hoped  once 


^o  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

more,  and  said  to  himself,  ''Why,  indeed, 
should  I  not  recover?"  He  called  to  mind 
examples  of  wonderful  cures  from  maladies 
further  advanced  than  his,  and  from  which  the 
patients  had  so  completely  recovered  that  not 
a  trace  of  their  illness  had  remained.  And  the 
subjects  of  these  cures  were  now  leading  free 
and  joyous  lives,  like  the  healthiest  and  most 
vigorous  of  men.  Oh,  to  live,  to  go,  to  come, 
without  restraint,  without  uneasiness,  to  be 
able  to  follow  his  inclinations,  without  fearing 
the  result.  To  be  delivered  from  nurses  and 
doctors,  to  afford  to  despise  precautions,  and 
not  to  have  to  think  continually  of  his  health ; 
to  be  able  to  commit  imprudences  at  his  pleas- 
ure. What  a  dream !  Should  he  ever  be  able 
to  realize  it?  In  so  ardently  desiring  health, 
he  had  but  one  aim  in  view — to  begin  again  the 
life  of  dissipation  which  had  brought  him  to 
this  miserable  condition.  When  he  gave  vent 
in  the  presence  of  Pierre  to  his  regrets  and  his 
aspirations,  his  friend  would  shake  his  head 
with  a  m.elancholy  air,  and  say  with  profound 
bitterness : 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  7^ 


"And  is  pleasure,  then,  worth  longing  so 
ardently  for?  Could  there  be  anything  vainer 
or  more  deceitful  ?  Ah !  to  long  for  success 
and  fame — that  I  can  understand ;  to  put  forth 
all  one's  energies  in  the  struggle  to  conquer 
them — that  is  worthy  of  a  man.  But  to  spend 
one's  days  and  nights  in  playing  cards  or  court- 
ing women — could  anything  more  senseless  or 
more  deplorable  be  conceived?  Yet  I  who 
criticise  so  severely  this  manner  of  life  lead  it 
myself.  But  I  am  a  stupid  and  contemptible 
fool,  who  have  no  longer  the  energy  to  earn  the 
money  by  work  which  I  expect  from  chance." 

He  laughed  drearily.  Then  he  resumed  more 
calmly : 

"After  all,  I  am  wrong  to  judge  others  by 
myself.  You  are  loved,  you  are  happy,  and  life 
has  pleasures  for  you  still.  I  am  mocked  and 
scorned,  and  the  only  joys  I  experience  are  so 
bitter  that  their  remembrance  weighs  more 
heavily  upon  me  than  do  my  sorrows.  What 
is  there  for  me  to  regret  leaving?  Nothing. 
By  whom  should  I  be  mourned?  By  no  one. 
Your  life,  on  the  contrary,  is  necessary  to  those 


It  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

who  love  you,  to  your  mother,  to  your  sister. 
It  is  for  their  sakes  that  you  must  get  well. 
It  is  of  them  only  that  you  must  think.  Ah, 
if  I  had  beside  me  always  a  sweet  and  charm- 
ing companion  whose  affection  would  console 
me  for  all  my  sufferings,  I  should  have  the 
courage  to  make  the  effort  to  elevate  my  moral 
nature  and  to  become  another  man.  In  the 
hours  of  my  most  profound  dejection  I  have 
often  thought  that  if  I  had  some  one  to  whom 
to  devote  my  life  I  might  show  myself  to  be  as 
good  a  man  as  the  best.  But  I  am  alone !  To 
the  devil  with  wisdom!  When  I  shall  have 
committed  follies  enough,  I  shall  dash  my 
brains  out  against  one  of  those  beautiful  red 
rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  and  the  waves  will 
lull  me  to  rest  in  my  last  sleep,  like  a  faithful 
friend." 

Pierre  Laurier  did  not  give  way  to  these  fits 
of  melancholy  when  alone  with  his  friend  only. 
Sometimes,  in  the  presence  of  Madame  de 
Vignes  and  of  Juliette,  he  had  allowed  his  irri- 
tation of  mind  to  break  forth  in  bitter  words. 
If,  at  such  moments,  he  had  chanced  to  look  at 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  73 

the  young  girl  he  would  have  discovered,  in 
the  pained  and  distressed  expression  of  her 
countenance,  one  of  those  incentives  for  reform- 
ing which  he  had  desired  of  fate.  But  he  did 
not  trouble  himself  about  the  effect  his  words 
might  produce.  He  thought  only  of  giving 
sincere  expression  to  his  despondent  feelings. 
Fool  I  The  boon  he  so  ardently  longed  for 
shone  like  a  luminous  star  in  the  darkness  of 
his  sky.  He  wished  for  a  sweet  and  charming 
being  to  whom  he  might  make  the  sacrifice 
of  his  evil  passions,  and  she  was  close  beside 
him,  pitying  his  sorrows,  and  suffering  with 
his  anguish. 

Notwithstanding  the  grief  caused  her  by 
these  dark  moods  of  her  brother's  friend,  Juli- 
ette did  not  complain  of  her  fate.  She  saw 
Pierre — tortured  with  anxieties,  sombre  and 
capricious  indeed — but  she  saw  him.  In  Paris 
she  never  saw  him,  consequently  she  had 
gained  something  by  the  change.  She  knew 
that  the  woman  who  exercised  so  evil  an  influ- 
ence over  him  was  at  Monte  Carlo,  but  she 
knew  also  that  the  painter  no  longer  spent 


74  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

all  his  time  with  her.  If  the  chain  was  still 
riveted  the  links  were  loosening,  and  some  day- 
would  doubtless  end  by  breaking.  This  was 
her  only  hope.  She  had  not  much  pride.  But 
has  one  ever  any  pride  who  loves?  On  the 
day  following  the  dinner  which  had  been 
so  strangely  terminated  by  Doctor  Davidoff's 
story,  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  Juli- 
ette, her  blonde  head  protected  by  an  umbrella, 
and  a  little  basket  on  her  arm,  was  walking 
along  the  terrace  gathering  flowers.  The 
weather  was  delightful.  The  blue  of  the  sea 
blended  into  the  blue  of  the  sky.  A  delicious 
breeze  laden  with  salt  odors  came  from  the 
ocean.  The  waves,  fringed  with  silver,  died 
away  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks  that  bordered 
the  solitary  little  bay.  Accompanied  by  his 
mother  Jacques  left  the  house  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  up  and  down  in  the  sun. 

Mme.  de  Vignes  was  a  small  and  slender 
woman  with  a  delicate  face,  expressive  black 
eyes,  and  an  intellectual  forehead  crowned 
with  hair  which  had  turned  prematurely  white. 
Her  countenance  wore  the  calm  expression  of 


THE   SOUL   OF  PlERRE. 


a  resignation  that  had  become  habitual  with 
her.  She  walked  softly  and  in  silence,  casting 
a  glance  from  time  to  time  at  her  son  as  if  to 
measure  the  progress  caused  in  his  convales- 
cence by  the  climate  of  the  South.  Jacques, 
stopping  in  the  middle  of  the  terrace,  and 
seating  himself  on  the  stone  parapet  which 
was  warmed  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  watched 
through  the  crystal  clearness  of  the  water  the 
strange  colors  of  the  submarine  vegetation. 
Sitting  in  the  warm  atmosphere,  his  head  bared 
to  the  breeze,  he  forgot  his  illness,  and  felt 
stealing  over  him  a  vivifying  sense  of  well- 
being.  His  sister  approached  him,  having 
gathered  her  flowers,  and  softly  kissing  him 
said : 

"How  do  you  feel  this  morning?  Did  you 
sleep  well  last  night?  It  seemed  to  me  late 
when  you  came  home." 

The  sick  man  smiled  at  the  recollection  of 
the  follies  in  which  he  had  once  consumed  his 
nights,  and  taking  a  spray  of  mimosa  from  the 
young  girl's  basket  answered  : 

"Oh,  very  late,  indeed  !     It  was  past  ten  I" 


76  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

*'You  are  laughing  at  me.  That  does  not 
alter  the  fact,  however,  that  you  went  out  last 
night  for  the  first  time  since  we  have  been 
here." 

**My  doctor  gave  me  permission  to  do  so. 
He  was  one  of  the  guests — and  a  doctor  never 
finds  the  pleasures  in  which  he  himself  partici- 
pates hurtful." 

Juliette  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
asked  with  a  serious  air : 

"Do  you  like  this  Doctor  Davidoff?" 

"Yes,  he  is  an  agreeable  companion,  and  his 
scientific  knowledge  is  genuine  and  profound 
notwithstanding  the  satanic  character  it  some- 
times assumes.  Besides,  I  do  not  believe  he  is 
so  demoniac  as  he  tries  to  appear.  But  it  is 
an  incontestible  fact  that  since  he  has  been 
attending  me  I  am  better." 

"Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vignes, 
"that  alone  would  make  him  seem  divine  to  me. 
Let  him  be  what  he  will,  if  he  will  only  cure 
you.  In  any  case  he  is  perfect^  well-bred 
and  of  good  social  standing.  But  he  might 
be  a  rustic  and  I   would  still  adore  him.     All 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  77 

I  ask  from  him  is  to  give  you  back  your 
health." 

"He  is  to  come  this  morning  to  see  if  my 
last  night's  dissipation  was  injurious  to  me. 
This  will  be,  unfortunately,  one  of  the  last 
visits  he  will  make  us.  He  starts  very  soon 
for  the  East  with  his  friend  and  patient  Count 
Woreseff." 

"The  Russian  to  whom  the  beautiful  white 
yacht  anchored  in  the  roadstead  of  Villefranche 
belongs?" 

"The  same." 

"Was  he  one  of  the  guests  last  night?" 

"No;  he  scarcely  ever  leaves  his  vessel.  It 
is  said  that  he  guards  there,  with  jealous  care,  a 
Circassian  whom  he  has  carried  off,  and  who  is 
reputed  to  be  the  most  perfect  beauty  it  is 
possible  to  imagine.  Her  apartment  is  fur- 
nished with  Oriental  splendor.  She  is  served 
by  women  sumptuously  attired.  In  the  even- 
ing the  most  exquisite  music  may  be  heard 
from  the  vessel.  It  is  produced  by  musicians 
on  board  hired  to  divert  the  Count  and  his  lady- 
love.    This  is  the  person  with  whom  DavidofI 


78  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

is  to  sail  for  the  land  of  the  Thousand  and 
One  Nights." 

"I  do  not  think  he  is  very  much  to  be 
pitied,"  said  Mme.  de  Vignes  gayly. 

"Last  night  he  did  his  best  to  persuade 
Pierre  to  accompany  them.  Woreseff,  who 
adores  artists,  had  thought  of  taking  with  him 
a  painter  who  might  make  some  sketches  of 
the  principal  episodes  of  the  journey." 

"And  your  friend  did  not  consent?"  asked 
Juliette  with  a  forced  smile. 

"No,  he  is  contemplating  another  journey, 
but  he  wishes  to  make  it  alone." 

These  words,  which  had  so  ominous  a  sound, 
were  followed  by  a  moment's  silence. 

Jacques,  suddenly  struck  by  the  sinister  mean- 
ing which  mJght  be  given  t(3  words  uttered 
by  him  without  any  arri^re  pe7is^e,  remained 
thoughtful,  recalling  the  bitter  expressions  to 
which  Pierre  had  so  often  given  utterance. 
Juliette  looked  at  her  brother  with  a  pang  at 
her  heart,  divining  his  painful  emotion,  and  her- 
self unable  to  recover  from  the  shock  she  had 
received.     It  seemed  as  if  both  of  them  were 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  79 

about  to  meet  with  some  misfortune  of  which 
those  words  were  the  threatening  presage. 
And  they  were  silent,  assailed  by  lugubrious 
presentiments.  The  rolling  of  carriage-wheels 
on  the  route  to  Beaulieu  recalled  them  from 
their  painful  thoughts.  They  looked  at  one 
another  in  silence,  and  each  was  frightened  at 
the  other's  pallor.  Then  they  turned  their 
eyes  to  the  gate  of  the  villa,  before  which  a 
carriage  had  stopped. 

The  Russian  doctor,  dressed  in  black  and 
looking  very  serious,  descended  from  the  vehi- 
cle and  advanced  toward  them.  Jacques  rose, 
and  assuming  a  more  cheerful  look  went  for- 
ward to  meet  his  eaily  visitor. 

"Faithful  to  your  promise,  my  dear  David- 
ofif,"  he  said,  pressing  his  friend's  hand.  "How 
many  thanks  I  owe  you  for  all  your  atten- 
tions to  me!" 

The  doctor  saluted  Mme.  de  Vignes  and 
her  daughter.  His  countenance  was  cold  and 
impassive.  Jacques  looked  at  him  with  aston- 
ishment and  Juliette  with  terror.  Why  this 
constrained     attitude,    this     silent     greeting? 


8o  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

What  was  it  he  feared  to  tell?  What  had 
happened  that  caused  him  to  wear  this  mourn- 
ful countenance  and  gloomy  air?  The  Russian 
raised  his  eyes  toward  Jacques,  and  slowly,  as 
if  seeking  to  prolong  a  situation  which  deferred 
some  painful  communication,  said : 

"Do  you  feel  well  this  morning?  Did  you 
sleep  soundly  last  night?  Have  you  any  fever 
to-day?" 

He  felt  Jacques's  pulse,  holding  his  wrist  for 
a  few  moments  between  his  fingers. 

"No;  it  is  stronger.  You  can  be  treated 
like  a  man  now,"  he  added. 

Jacques  looked  at  the  doctor  and  in  a  hollow 
voice  said : 

"Has  anything  happened  serious  enough  to 
require  such  precautions?" 

Davidoff  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  without 
speaking. 

"And  you  hesitated  to  tell  me  of  it?" 
resumed  Jacques. 

'"Yes." 

"And  now?" 

"And  now  I  am  ready  to  tell  you." 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  8 1 

He  lowered  his  voice  a  little  so  as  not  to  be 
heard  by  the  mother  and  sister  of  the  young 
man  and  said : 

"It  would  be  better,  however,  to  wait  until 
we  are  alone." 

They  all  walked  slowly  toward  the  house. 
When  they  were  in  front  of  the  veranda  which 
ran  before  the  windows  of  the  parlor,  the 
blinds  of  which  were  partly  closed  to  shut  out 
the  sun,  Mme.  de  Vignes  and  Juliette  paused. 
The  young  girl  looked  at  the  doctor  anxi- 
ously. She  felt  that  the  mysterious  words 
he  had  just  spoken  had  some  secret  connec- 
tion with  the  thoughts  that  had  troubled 
her  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival.  The 
image  of  Pierre  Laurier  appeared  before  her, 
pale  and  indistinct,  and  seeming  as  if  van- 
ishing into  nothingness.  The  serious  com- 
munication which  Davidoff  had  to  make  re- 
lated, she  was  sure,  to  the  painter.  Of  what 
nature  was  it?  A  shudder  passed  through 
her  frame.  On  this  beautiful  sunny  morn- 
ing she  felt  cold.  She  saw  the  blue  heavens 
veil   themselves    in    obscurity,    the   sea   grow 


82  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


dark,  the  verdure  of  the  pine  trees  lose  its 
color.  A  knell  sounded  in  her  ears.  Over- 
come by  her  funereal  hallucination,  her  brain 
whirled  and  the  earth  seemed  slipping  from 
under  her  feet. 

The  voice  of  her  mother  pronouncing  her 
name  recalled  her  to  herself.  Her  eyes  un- 
closed, her  vision  grew  clear,  and  the  sky  was 
once  more  bright,  the  sea  blue,  the  trees  green. 
Nature  was  still  the  same ;  her  heart  alone  v/as 
oppressed  with  anguish,  and  her  mind  filled 
with  gloomy  foreboding. 

"Come,  Juliette,"  repeated  Mme.  de  Vignes. 
**I  think  your  brother  wishes  to  be  alone  with 
the  doctor." 

The  young  girl  cast  an  appealing  glance  at 
the  Russian,  as  if  it  depended  upon  him 
whether  the  calamity  she  feared  had  taken 
place  or  not,  then  with  a  deep  sigh  she  went 
into  the  house. 

The  two  men  had  seated  themselves  near 
one  of  the  iron  columns  supporting  the  glass 
roof  of  the  veranda,  around  which  twined  clus- 
ters  of    fragrant   heliotrope.     They   remained 


THE   sour.    OF  PIERRE.  83 


silent  for  a  moment,  each  thinking  of  the  revel- 
ation which  was  to  come. 

Then  Jacques,  with  the  egotism  of  the  inva- 
lid, said  tranquilly : 

"What  have  you  to  tell  me,  my  dear  friend  ?  " 

"A  very  sad  piece  of  news,  very  sad  indeed. 
It  was  brought  to  me  this  morning,  and  I  con- 
fess that  I  am  still  completely  overwhelmed  by 
it.  If  it  were  not  .necessary  that  you  should 
be  told  of  it,  I  would  have  deferred  my  pain- 
ful task,  but  it  so  nearly  concerns  you — " 

Jacques,  grown  suddenly  nervous,  inter- 
rupted him: 

"What  a  preamble!  How  am  I  concerned 
in  what  you  have  to  tell  me?" 

"That  is  what  you  are  now  about  to  learn," 
replied  Davidoff,  looking  at  his  patient  so  in- 
tently that  his  glance  seemed  almost  stern. 
"At  about  one  o'clock  this  morning  a  suicide 
was  committed,  close  by  Monte  Carlo.  A  man 
threw  himself  from  the  cliff  into  the  sea. 
Some  custom-house  officers,  making  their 
rounds,  found  his  overcoat,  his  hat,  and  a  few 
words — addressed  to  you." 


84  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 

"To  me !"  exclaimed  Jacques,  turning  pale. 

*'To  you.  The  articles  were  taken  to  the 
Governor,  who,  knowing  how  intimate  we  are, 
caused  me  to  be  notified  in  order  that  I  might 
break  the  news  to  you." 

Jacques's  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  recede  in 
his  head,  and  his  mouth  twitched  convulsively 
as  he  said : 

**It  concerns  some  one,  then,  with  whom  I 
am  closely  connected?" 

"Very  closely." 

Davidoff  slowly  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
card  on  the  back  of  which  the  painter  had  writ- 
ten his  last  farewell,  and  held  it  toward  his  pa- 
tient. The  latter,  with  something  like  terror, 
took  the  thin  piece  of  pasteboard  in  his  hand 
and  read  the  name  engraved  upon  it.  A  sud- 
den flush  mounted  to  his  cheeks  as  he  cried  : 

"Pierre!     Pierre!     Can  this  be  possible?" 

He  remained  speechless  for  a  moment,  his 
gaze  fixed  on  the  Russian  doctor,  who  ob- 
served him  in  silence,  motionless  and  sombre. 
Both  were  silent  as  if  fearing  to  hear  the  sound 
of  their  own  voices.     They  exchanged  a  glance 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  85 

of  horror  and  incredulity,  so  difficult  was  it  for 
them  to  believe  that  this  being,  a  short  time 
since  so  full  of  life  and  vigor,  should  have  van- 
ished in  a  moment.  Yet  such  was  the  fact. 
Pierre  would  never  again  appear  amongst 
them.  His  place  beside  them  was  to  be  for- 
ever vacant. 

Jacques  without  a  word  looked  once  more 
at  the  card,  the  name  on  which  he  had  just 
read,  and  brushing  away  with  the  back  of  his 
hand  the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes,  proceeded 
to  read  the  last  farewell  addressed  to  him  by 
his  friend.  He  read  aloud  the  lines  traced  in 
pencil  with  a  trembling  hand  on  the  preceding 
night.  His  voice  was  choked  by  an  over- 
powering emotion.  He  understood,  from  what 
he  read,  that  his  friend  was  weary  of  his  suffer- 
ing and  his  degradation,  and  that  he  desired  to 
die  in  order  to  escape  from  them.  But  he  saw 
also  that  in  ending  his  life  the  thought  had 
come  to  him  to  make  this  strange  compact 
with  fate,  which  should  allow  him  to  live  again 
in  Jacques.     He  read  slowly  aloud  : 

"I  am  going  to  try  the  experiment  of  which 


86  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 

Davidoff  told  us:  I  bequeath  to  you  my  soul. 
Live  happy  through  me  and  for  me." 

A  horrible  hope  lighted  up  the  eyes  of  the 
sick  man,  at  the  same  time  that  a  sigh  broke 
from  his  lips.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  grief, 
but  a  vivifying  faith  had  already  taken  root  in 
his  heart. 

"It  was  I  who  saw  him  last,"  said  the  Rus. 
sian  doctor.  "He  left  me  to  visit  Clemence 
Villa.  A  violent  scene,  such  as  took  place 
daily  between  them,  must  have  occurred.  He 
left  the  house,  and  after  that  no  one  knows 
what  happened.  Some  coast-guards  who 
chanced  to  be  on  the  road  to  Vintimille  during 
the  night  on  the  lookout  for  smugglers,  with 
whom  they  exchanged  shots,  found  the  coat, 
the  hat,  and  the  card  near  the  spot  where  the 
affray  took  place." 

"And  his  body?"  Jacques  asked. 

"The  tide  will  doubtless  wash  it  ashore  later. 
It  can  then  be  buried  in  holy  ground,  and  his 
friends  can  go  shed  their  tears  over  his  grave." 

A  deep  groan,  and  the  noise  of  a  falling 
body  in  the  parlor,  were  heard  at  the  same  mo- 


The  soul  of  pierre.  ^7 

ment.  Jacques  and  the  doctor  started  to  their 
feet  in  terror.  Davidoff  went  hastily  forward, 
drew  the  blinds,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
surprise.  At  two  steps  from  the  window  Juli- 
ette was  lying  unconscious  on  the  floor.  She 
had  caught  a  chair  to  support  herself  with, 
which  had  fallen  to  the  ground  with  her.  Pale 
and  with  closed  eyes,  she  looked  as  if  she  were 
dead. 

The  two  men  hurried  into  the  house.  At 
the  noise  Mme.  de  Vignes  had  appeared.  She 
had  no  need  to  ask  any  questions.  Through 
the  open  door  she  had  seen  her  daughter. 
For  this  woman,  apparently  so  frail,  to  take 
Juliette  in  her  arms  was  the  work  of  an  instant. 
She  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  examined  her  counte- 
nance, placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  felt  it 
beating,  and,  somewhat  reassured,  asked  her 
son: 

"What  has  happened?" 

Davidoff  approached  the  young  girl  and 
moistened  her  temples  with  water.  Jacques 
did  not  give  his  mother  the  card  on  which  was 
written   the  last  will  of   his   friend   bequeath- 


THk   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


ing  to  him  his  soul.  He  only  uttered  the 
words : 

"Pierre  is  dead." 

It  seemed  as  if  these  words  had  power  to 
make  themselves  heard  by  Juliette,  even  in  her 
unconscious  state.  She  sighed,  opened  her 
eyes,  recognized  those  around  her,  and  return- 
ing to  life  and  to  suffering  at  the  same  time, 
burst  into  tears. 

Mme.  de  Vignes  and  her  son  exchanged 
glances.  Jacques  cast  down  his  eyes.  Then 
the  mother,  divining  the  secret  of  the  virginal 
love  of  Juliette,  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  began 
to  weep  with  her. 

Davidoff  took  Jacques  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  out  of  the  house.  On  the  terrace  the  air 
was  mild ;  the  sun  drew  their  fragrance  from 
the  odorous  plants ;  the  light  breeze  gladdened 
the  heart ;  the  sea  was  of  a  sapphire  blue,  the 
swallows  skimmed  along  the  surface  of  the 
water  with  joyful  cries.  It  seemed  to  the  doc- 
tor that  his  patient  was  no  longer  the  same; 
he  walked  with  a  firm  step,  he  held  himself 
erect ;  his  eyes,  a   moment  before  hollow  and 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  89 


dull,  shone  brightly.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
from  the  animated  expression  of  his  face  one 
could  divine  that  a  sudden  exaltation  had 
taken  the  place  of  his  former  dejection.  Davi- 
doff,  with  an  expression  of  bitter  irony,  looked 
at  him  thus  transformed  by  hope. 

Then,  as  he  thought  of  Pierre  Laurier  dead, 
and  of  Juliette  weeping,  the  Russian  smiled 
sardonically  in  silence.  He  thought  that  in 
order  to  restore  this  selfish  young  man  to  life 
the  sacrifice  of  two  human  beings  was  a  heavy 
price  to  pay,  and  he  could  fancy  that  he  saw  a 
pair  of  lovers,  young  and  happy,  walking  arm 
in  arm  in  the  intoxicating  perfume  of  the 
flowering  orange-trees,  on  this  beautiful  ter- 
race, under  this  cloudless  sky.  But  the  vision 
swiftly  passed,  and  Davidoff  saw  only  Jacques, 
revivified  already  by  the  blood  of  Pierre  and 
the  tears  of  Juliette,  walking  by  his  side  tri- 
umphantly. 


III. 

WHILE  he  was  swimming  with  all  his 
strength  toward  the  drowning  man, 
Pierre,  his  figure  brought  into  sharp  relief  by 
the  light  of  the  moon,  at  the  moment  un- 
clouded, had  been  perceived  by  the  custom- 
house officers,  who  were  in  ambush  on  the 
cliff.  Two  shots,  passing  close  to  him,  a  sharp 
whizzing  sound  in  his  ears,  a  dash  of  spray 
thrown  up  by  the  ball,  told  him  that  he  had 
been  taken  for  a  smuggler.  He  raised  himself 
on  the  crest  of  a  wave  and  cast  a  rapid  glance 
around.  Ten  yards  away  a  black  form  was 
struggling  in  an  eddy;  two  hundred  yards 
farther  off  the  boat,  impelled  by  the  efforts  of 
the  rowers,  was  making  for  the  cutter,  which 
tacked  about  in  the  open  sea.  A  few  vigorous 
strokes  brought  Pierre  beside  the  wretch  who 
was  struggling  desperately  though  almost  un- 
consciously with  the  waves.  Pierre  grasped 
him    vigorously,    raised    his    head    above    the 

QI 


92  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

water,  and  with  all  the  force  of  his  lungs  gave 
a  cry,  which,  borne  from  wave  to  wave,  reached 
the  boat.  The  man  at  the  tiller  raised  himself 
up  at  this  appeal,  looked  around  attentively, 
and  perceiving  the  two  men  struggling  in  the 
water  in  the  moonlight,  responded  with  a 
sharp  whistle.  Immediately  the  oars  ceased 
to  strike  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  boat 
stopped,  and  the  cutter,  as  if  obeying  orders 
previously  received,  headed  toward  the  land. 
Weighed  down  by  his  human  freight,  and  col- 
lecting all  his  strength,  Pierre  made  slow  prog- 
ress. His  clothes  clinging  to  his  body  pre- 
vented the  free  movement  of  his  limbs,  and  he 
could  scarcely  breathe.  The  waves  now  passed 
over  his  head.  He  no  longer  made  an  effort  to 
swim.  It  seemed  to  him  that  an  irresistible 
power  drew  him  downward,  and  that  invisi- 
ble bonds  weighed  heavily  upon  his  limbs. 
A  buzzing  sound  filled  his  ears,  and  his  dark- 
ened vision  could  no  longer  behold  the  sky. 
He  thought  to  himself,  *T  shall  never  have  the 
strength  to  reach  the  boat,  and  I  am  going  to 
die  along  with  this  unfortunate  wretch."     He 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRA.  93 

was  seized  with  despair  at  not  being  able  to 
save  this  man,  whom  he  had  never  seen  before, 
and  whom  he  held  as  closely  clasped  as  if  he 
had  been  a  tenderly  loved  brother.  He  did 
not  think  of  himself;  he  had  resolved  to  die, 
and  he  felt  a  bitter  joy  in  not  sacrificing  his 
life  uselessly,  by  a  foolish  and  cowardly  sui- 
cide, but  in  the  effort  to  rescue  a  fellow-being 
from  death.  An  ardent  desire  to  succeed 
restored  to  him  his  failing  strength.  He  strug- 
gled forward  with  a  more  powerful  effort  with 
his  inert  burden,  and  once  more  rose  to  the 
surface.  The  boat  was  not  more  than  twenty 
yards  away.  A  choking  cry  escaped  his  lips, 
closed  by  the  contraction  of  the  muscles.  He 
beat  the  water  with  his  arm,  while  his  paralyzed 
legs  remained  motionless.  The  breaking  of  a 
wave  upon  him  turned  him  over,  and  the  salt 
water  filling  his  throat  strangled  a  last  cry. 
He  sank  into  the  green  depths,  the  moon  shin- 
ing down  upon  him,  with  this  idea  clearly  de- 
fined in  his  mind,  that  if  he  released  his  hold  of 
his  companion,  lightened  of  the  weight  he 
would  be  saved. 


94  THE   SOUL  OF  PiERRB. 


But  he  rejected  the  selfish  counsel  of  human 
weakness.  He  said  to  himself:  "If  I  could 
save  his  life  by  the  sacrifice  of  my  own  I  would 
gladly  do  so.  Courage,  then  ;  one  last  effort  in 
order  that  he  may  not  die  with  me."  He  rose 
to  the  surface  of  the  water,  gave  a  deep  breath, 
saw  once  more  the  starry  sky,  and  suddenly 
found  himself  released  from  the  burden  which 
was  dragging  him  down.  He  heard  voices  say- 
ing in  Italian,  "Here  he  is;  take  hold  of 
him."  At  the  same  moment  a  dark  mass, 
which  seemed  to  Pierre  of  enormous  size,  rose 
on  the  waves  and  fell  heavily  over  upon  him. 
He  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  the  forehead.  He 
seemed  to  see  thousands  of  stars,  then  he  lost 
consciousness.  When  he  returned  to  himself 
he  was  stretched  on  a  heap  of  sails  in  the  fore- 
part of  a  little  vessel  that  swiftly  cut  the 
waters  in  the  moonlight.  The  furled  jib  flut- 
tered in  the  wind  above  his  head.  The  waves 
roared,  cut  by  the  vessel's  keel,  and  leaning 
over  him  were  three  men  with  swarthy  faces 
who  were  anxiously  awaiting  his  return  to  con- 
sciousness. 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  95 


He  tried  to  rise,  but  two  arms  held  him 
down.  One  of  the  men,  uncorking  a  wicker- 
covered  flask,  offered  it  to  him  to  drink.  He 
swallowed  a  mouthful  of  the  strong  brandy, 
which  restored  him  fully  to  the  consciousness 
of  external  things.  A  burning  sensation  in 
the  forehead  recalled  to  his  mind  the  shock 
which  had  caused  him  to  faint.  He  put  his 
hand  to  his  face  and  drew  it  away  covered 
with  blood.  At  the  same  time  the  night  air, 
freshened  by  the  rapid  movement  of  the  vessel, 
made  him  shiver,  and  he  perceived  that  he  was 
soaked  to  the  skin.  Then,  in  a  voice  which  had 
not  yet  regained  its  strength,  he  said  to  the 
men  who  surrounded  him : 

"My  friends,  if  you  take  an  interest  in  my 
fate,  as  it  would  seem  you  do,  in  the  first  place 
give  me  some  dry  clothing,  for  I  am  dying  of 
cold." 

"Hold,  our  comrade  is  a  countryman,"  said 
one  of  the  three  sailors  with  a  strong  Proven- 
gal  accent.  "Let  me  then  have  the  privilege 
of  placing  my  wardrobe  at  his  disposal." 

The  speaker  disappeared  through  the  hatch- 


96  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

way,  and  reappeared  in  a  moment  with  a  pair 
of  trousers,  a  pair  of  shoes,  a  woolen  shirt,  and 
a  heavy  coat.  He  laid  them  down  beside 
Pierre,  and  said  with  an  air  of  satisfaction : 

''Agostino  will  get  over  it;  he  begins  to 
breathe  again.  Ah,  if  he  was  not  struck  by 
the  prow  of  the  boat  as  you  were,  he  swal- 
lowed a  great  deal  more  water." 

Pierre,  at  these  words,  recalled  to  mind  the 
enormous  black  mass  that  he  had  seen  tower- 
ing above  him  on  the  waters  the  instant  be- 
fore he  lost  consciousness.  He  comprehended 
that  it  was  the  boat,  rising  on  the  crest  of  the 
wave,  which  had  fallen  with  all  its  weight  over 
upon  him.  While  he  was  making  these  reflec- 
tions, his  companions  quickly  exchanged  his 
wet  garments  for  dry  ones.  He  found  himself 
at  last  seated  on  a  coil  of  ropes,  very  dizzy,  but 
experiencing  a  profound  sense  of  comfort  from 
the  soft  wool  which  communicated  its  warmth 
to  his  numbed  limbs. 

"Who  is  Agostino?"  he  asked,  turning  to- 
ward the  three  men,  who  were  watching  him 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  97 

"Agostino,"  replied  the  Proven9al,  "is  the 
comrade  whom  you  rescued  from  the  waves 
under  the  fire  of  the  custom-house  officers." 

"And  you  yourselves,"  asked  Pierre  with 
brusque  authoritativeness,  "who  are  you?" 

The  sailors  consulted  together  before  an- 
swering. "There  is  no  reason,"  said  one  of 
them  in  a  gutteral  voice,  in  bad  Italian,  "why 
we  should  mistrust  him.  And  any  way  what 
can  he  do  to  injure  us?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  interrupted  Pierre  tran- 
quilly. "And  besides,  even  if  I  could  injure 
you,  I  should  certainly  have  no  desire  to 
do  so." 

"Ah,  you  understood  what  we  were  saying, 
then,"  cried  the  Provencal,  laughing. 

"Almost  entirely,  but  it  seemed  to  me  a 
patois  your  comrades  spoke." 

"Yes,  it  is  the  Sardinian  dialect.  We  are 
poor  sailors  trying  to  pass,  free  of  duty,  and  at 
the  risk  of  our  lives,  the  goods  intrusted  to  us 
by  the  merchants  of  Leghorn  and  Genoa." 

"You  are  smugglers,  then?" 

"Well,  yes !     That  is  what  they  call  us.     We 


9^  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERR&. 


were  about  to  land  some  silks,  brandy  and 
cigars  when  we  were  interrupted,  just  in  the 
midst  of  our  work,  by  those  dogs  of  custom- 
house officers.  The  goods  were  all  passed  on 
shore  except  two  bales  of  Virginias,  that  fell 
into  the  sea  for  the  fishes  to  smoke." 

"But  you,  monsieur,  how  was  it  that  you 
chanced  to  be  on  the  spot,  just  in  time,  to  get 
poor  Agostino  out  of  his  fix?" 

It  was  now  Pierre's  turn  to  be  embarrassed. 
He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  confide  to  his 
hosts  of  a  day  the  fatal  project  which  had  led 
him  to  the  beach  at  the  point  in  question,  in 
order  that  he  might  there  save  another's  life 
instead  of  throwing  away  his  own.  The  delay 
he  made  in  answering  gave  the  sailors  reason 
to  think  that  he  had  his  own  motives  for  not 
giving  an  explanation  of  his  conduct.  How- 
ever, they  were  not  the  men  to  be  astonished 
at  this,  and  were  by  habit  disposed  to  be  dis- 
creet. 

"Your  affairs  concern  no  one  but  yourself," 
said  the  Provencal,  just  as  the  painter  was 
beginning  to  invent  an  explanation  of  his  pres- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  99 

— — f 

ence  on  the  scene,  at  the  time  mentioned,  "and 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  Instead  of 
making  you  talk  it  would  be  better  for  us  to 
staunch  the  wound  in  your  forehead.  It  has 
bled,  that  is  good  for  wounds  in  the  head. 
All  it  wants  now  is  a  linen  bandage,  and  in  a 
couple  of  days  there  will  oe  no  need  to  think 
any  more  about  it.  Do  you  wish  to  come 
downstairs  with  the  comrades?" 

"If  you  do  not  mind,  I  should  prefer  to 
remain  on  deck.  I  am  not  very  strong  on  my 
legs  just  yet  and  the  air  will  do  me  good.* 

"As  you  choose." 

A  few  moments  later,  Pierre,  his  head  bound 
up,  stood  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  cut- 
ter, looking  at  the  waves  rolling  past.  Not  a 
sail  was  in  sight".  In  the  distance  a  light  shone 
through  the  mist,  appearing  and  disappearing 
alternately.  The  young  man  inhaled  with 
satisfaction  the  fresh  sea-breeze.  In  the  midst 
of  these  strangers  he  Telt  himself  delivered 
from  a  crushing  weight.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  no  longer  the  same  person,  and 
that  the  insane  and  sick  Pierre  Laurier  slept 


loo  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


now  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  his  pale  and  life- 
less form  rocked  by  the  waves.  He  breathed 
a  profound  sigh  which  vibrated  through  the 
silence,  and  murmured  softly : 

"It  is  true,  I  am  dead." 

"Do  you  need  anything?"  asked  the  Proven- 
cal, who  had  remained  with  him  to  attend  to 
his  wants. 

"My  faith,  my  dear  comrade,  since  you 
smuggle  cigars,  you  have  doubtless  a  little 
store  of  them  on  board.  I  confess  that  it 
would  give  me  pleasure  to  smoke  one." 

"That  is  easily  done." 

The  sailor  leaned  over  the  hatchway,  and 
spoke  a  few  words.  He  soon  returned  with  a 
package  of  cigars  tied  with  yellow  ribbons, 
which  he  handed  to  Pierre. 

"It  is  the  captain  who  sends  them  to  you," 
he  said,  "and  he  charges  me  to  tell  you  that 
Agostino  has  entirely  recovered  consciousness. 
Poor  boy,  if  we  had  left  him  behind  us  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  there  would  have  been 
many  a  tear  shed  in  Torrevecchio." 

"Wher^    is    Torrevecchio?"    asked    Pierre, 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  loi 

The  Provencal  pointed  toward  the  distant 
horizon. 

"Down  there,"  he  said,  "in  Corsica." 

He  struck  a  light  and  handing  the  burning 
wood  to  Pierre, — 

"Here  is  a  light,"  he  said. 

Pierre  chose  a  long,  dark  colored  cigar, 
lighted  it  carefully,  and  taking  a  few  quick 
puffs  with  keen  delight, — 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "where  is  the  vessel 
bound  for  now?" 

The  Provencal  shook  his  head. 

"No  one  but  the  captain  knows  that,"  he  said. 
"We  have  rounded  the  point  of  the  Island  of 
Elba." 

"But  what  port  is  the  vessel  bound  for — 
Porto  Ferraio  or  where?" 

"That  is  what  we  shall  know  when  we  get 
there.     We  are  in  God's  hands." 

Pierre  smiled  and  nodded  his  head  approv- 
ingly. Walking  slowly  toward  the  heap  of 
sails  on  which  he  had  found  himself  lying 
when  he  returned  to  consciousness,  he  sat  down 
upon  it,  drew  his  woolen  coat  aroi^nd  him, 


I02  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

lowered  the  hood  over  his  head,  leaned  against 
a  coil  of  rope  for  a  pillow,  and  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  resplendent  sky,  smoking  slowly, 
his  mind  tranquil,  and  his  heart  free,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  years,  he  lost  himself  in  a 
revery,  which  ended  sweetly  in  sleep. 

When  he  awoke  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun, 
in  which  he  was  basking  like  a  lizard  in  the 
crevice  of  a  wall,  fell  warmly  upon  him.  At 
first  he  could  hardly  remember  where  he  was. 
The  sails  and  rigging  presented  to  his  eyes  a 
sight  which  they  were  not  accustomed  to  see 
on  opening  in  the  morning.  Suddenly  the 
recollection  of  the  events  which  had  filled  the 
short  hours  of  the  night  came  to  his  mind. 
His  heart  beat  rapidly  at  the  knowledge  that 
his  accustomed  way  of  life  was  at  an  end,  that 
nothing  which  he  was  accustomed  to  do  was 
any  longer  possible  to  him.  Between  his  past 
and  his  present  yawned  a  gulf  deeper  than 
the  blue  sea  which  separated  the  vessel  from 
the  shore.  And  at  the  bottom  a  corpse,  that 
of  a  mad  painter,  named  Pierre  Laurier,  lay 
killed  by  a  fatal  fall. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I03 

Yes,  killed !  He  repeated  the  word  to  him- 
self that  there  might  remain  no  possible  doubt 
in  his  still  confused  mind  on  this  point.  He 
had  announced  his  intention  to  kill  himself ;  he 
had  even  written  it  to  his  friends.  At  this  mo- 
ment they  must  be  plunged  in  astonishment  or 
in  sorrow.  He  could  not  reappear  before  them 
without  danger  of  seeming  ridiculous.  Chance 
had  placed  him  in  the  midst  of  new  surround- 
ings where  he  was  absolutely  unknown  to  his 
companions.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  let  him- 
self drift  along  wherever  chance  might  lead. 

And  then  was  it  not  silence,  rest,  peace  that 
his  spirit  longed  for?  Ah,  to  emerge  from  the 
hell  of  a  degrading  intrigue,  and  find  himself 
suddenly  cast  into  the  paradise  of  a  primitive 
and  altogether  novel  existence  !  To  exchange 
the  agitated  atmosphere  of  a  coquette's  bou- 
doir, the  vitiated  air  of  a  gambling  hall  for  the 
fresh  and  wholesome  odors  of  this  vessel  cleav- 
ing the  blue  waters.  His  lungs  expanded 
in  the  fresh  breeze.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his 
chest  broadened  and  a  tremor  of  delight  passed 
through  his  frame.      He  rose,  and  seeing  the 


104  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

crew  assembled  on  deck,  he  went  with  a  tran- 
quil step  toward  his  new  friends. 

The  Provengal  advanced  to  meet  him. 

"Have  you  slept  well?"  he  asked. 

"As  never  before !" 

"Ah,  the  sea  knows  how  to  lull  one  to 
sleep !" 

"Where  are  we?"  asked  Pierre. 

"Abreast  of  Leghorn — that  line  of  white 
coast  which  you  see  there  to  the  left  is  Viareg- 
gio.  But  here  comes  the  captain  with  Agos- 
tino,  who  wishes  to  thank  you." 

Hardly  had  Pierre  time  to  turn  round  when 
a  young  man  of  about  twenty,  with  brown  hair 
and  beard,  an  olive  complexion,  lighted  up  by 
large  eyes,  and  a  kindly  smile,  rushed  to  him 
and  clasped  him  in  his  arms. 

"It  is  you  who  saved  my  life!"  he  cried, 
with  a  strong  Italian  accent.  "You  may  count 
on  me  in  your  turn  :  my  life  belongs  to  you." 

"Well,  well !  comrade,"  answered  the  painter, 
gently  disengaging  himself. 

He  looked  at  Agostino,  and  placing  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder; 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  105 

"You  were  indeed  too  young  to  die,"  he  said. 
"But  it  is  your  companions  who  saved  you ;  as 
for  me,  I  was  drowning  with  you." 

"That  is  precisely  what  makes  me  grateful 
to  you,"  said  Agostino.  "You  were  sinking, 
yet  you  did  not  leave  me  to  the  mercy  of  the 
waters.  Oh,  you  must  come  to  our  village  so 
that  my  mother  and  sister  may  thank  you. 
But  what  is  your  name?" 

"Pierre." 

In  his  turn  Agostino  examined  his  preserver. 

*'You  are  neither  a  fisherman,  a  sailor,  nor  a 
workman — you  are  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 

"Indeed,  you  are  mistaken.  I  am  a  work- 
man,— I  am  a  painter." 

"Ah,  you  paint  pictures,  then?  Faces  of 
men  and  women  perhaps,  looking  out  of  win- 
dows in  villas,  or  perhaps  signs  for  shops. 
Perhaps  Madonnas  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets." 

"Precisely,"  said  Pierre.  "And  if  I  could 
find  work  to  do  in  your  country  I  would  settle 
down  there  for  a  time." 

"The  Corsicans  are  not  rich,"  said  the  cap- 


io6  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


tain ;  "but  if  you  want  to  give  a  dash  of  paint 
to  Saint  Laurent  there,  at  the  stern  of  the 
vessel — " 

"Certainly,  when  we  arrive  in  port.  It  shall 
be  the  price  of  my  passage,  if  you  do  not 
think  it  too  little." 

"It  is  we  who  are  your  debtors,"  interrupted 
the  smugglers.  "Whatever  you  do  to  the  ves- 
sel, we  shall  take  as  a  mark  of  friendship ;  but 
as  for  ourselves  we  shall  still  be  in  your  debt." 

"It  is  settled  then,"  cried  Pierre  gayly. 
"And  might  one  know  where  we  are  going  at 
this  pretty  rate?" 

"To  Bastia." 

"Be  it  Bastia,  then,"  said  the  painter.  "I 
have  no  choice,  and  provided  we  do  not  make 
the  mainland,  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

"Are  you  obliged  to  try  change  of  climate, 
then?  Does  not  the  air  of  France  agree  with 
you?"  asked  the  captain  with  an  inquisitive 
smile. 

"Not  at  all." 

"Have  you  got  yourself  into  some  scrape?" 

"A  very  bad  scrape     Yes !  a  love  affair." 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I07 


A  scornful  expression  crossed  the  smuggler's 
face,  and  Pierre  could  see  that  he  had  fallen 
in  his  estimation.  But  although  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  himself  out  culpable  only, 
not  criminal,  he  already  felt  himself  more  at 
his  ease  with  his  companions.  "Here  I  am,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "like  Salvator  Rosa  among  the 
brigands.  But  is  the  occupation  of  the  men 
who  surround  me  any  worse  than  that  of  the 
people  to  whom  I  give  my  hand  every  day? 
The  only  difference  is  in  station  and  in  dress. 
Only  that  these  are  more  open  to  generosity 
and  gratitude  than  my  former  friends.  These 
are  more  simple  and  upright  by  nature,  than 
the  others.  These  bad  fellows,  who  have  all 
perhaps  done  something  to  deserve  imprison- 
ment, even  the  galleys,  it  may  be,  are  less 
corrupt,  less  thoroughly  evil,  than  those  with 
whom  I  associate  habitually." 

This  bitter  philosophy  strengthened  him, 
and  he  faced  with  tranquillity,  almost  with 
satisfaction,  his  new  situation.  He  no  longer 
thought  of  dying.  He  no  longer  had  any  rea- 
son to  curse  life.     It  provided  him  with  novel 


ioS  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

sensations  which  excited  his  active  imagina- 
tion. Capricious  and  impressionable,  as  easily 
exalted  as  depressed,  his  artistic  temperament 
made  him  form  in  an  instant  the  most  flatter- 
ing expectations  which  replaced  all  his  former 
anxieties.  This  change  of  environment  made 
him  feel,  not  embarrassment  nor  annoyance, 
but  contentment  and  tranquillity.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  just  escaped  from  a  prison 
in  which  for  long  months  he  had  dragged  out 
a  weary  existence.  He  rejoiced  in  his  inde- 
pendence, his  freedom.  His  vision,  refreshed 
and  sharpened,  as  it  were,  was  struck  by  a 
thousand  details  which  had  passed  unnoticed 
before.  The  green  tint  of  the  waves,  fringed 
with  silver  foam,  charmed  his  sight.  He  stud- 
ied the  gradations  of  color  in  the  sky,  of  an 
intense  blue  at  the  zenith  and  of  an  opal-like 
gray  at  the  horizon.  The  slender  masts  of  the 
vessel,  the  rigging,  the  red  sails  defined  against 
the  clear  background,  the  profile  of  a  sailor 
seated  on  the  bowsprit,  making  fast  a  rope, 
these  tableaux  vivants,  arranged  without  pre- 
meditation,   attracted    his   attention,   and    af- 


The  soul  of  pierHe.  to^ 


forded  him  delightful  enjoyment.  Scarcely 
was  he  released  from  the  bondage  of  the 
woman  who  had  held  him  in  her  toils,  than  he 
recovered  his  love  for  his  art,  and  with  extra- 
ordinary fickleness,  he  retained  only  a  vague 
recollection,  dimmed  as  if  by  distance,  of  her 
who  had  been  his  torment.  His  degrading 
passion  had  been  dislodged  from  his  heart,  by 
the  violent  moral  shock  he  had  sustained,  as 
a  rotten  fruit  falls  from  the  bough  after  a 
storm. 

He  lighted  one  of  the  long  Virginias  which 
the  Proven9al  had  given  him  the  night  before, 
and  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  rail  of  the  vessel 
he  let  his  gaze  wander  over  the  calm  sea,  to 
which  animation  was  lent  by  the  fishing  ves- 
sels moving  slowly,  and  the  steamers  more 
rapidly,  and  leaving  in  their  wake  a  trail  of 
black  smoke,  on  their  way  to  Civita  Vecchia 
or  Naples.  The  wind  filling  the  sails  impelled 
the  cutter  swiftly  on,  and  already  in  the  mists 
in  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  tall  and  pur- 
ple mountains  bathed  in  the  warm  sunshine. 

Pierre  called  Agostino,  and  pointing  to  the 


tid  THE  SOUL  OP  PIERRE. 


horizon,  '*What  is  that  country  before  us,"  he 
asked. 

"Corsica,"  said  the  sailor,  in  his  gutteral 
voice.  "Those  mountains  over  there  stretch 
from  the  point  of  Centuri  to  Bonifacio.  The 
Httle  island  close  to  the  mainland  on  the  left  is 
Giraghia.  To-night  we  shall  pass  between  her 
batteries  and  Cape  Corso  to  reach  Bastia.  If 
it  were  not  for  the  sea-mist  you  could  see  the 
snow  on  Mount  Calvo ;  but  you  shall  see  for 
yourself  what  a  fine  country  it  is.  And  there 
is  no  monopoly  of  tobacco  there,  the  trade  is 
free,  not  as  in  France,  though  its  being  illegal 
does  not  prevent  its  being  carried  on  there  all 
the  same.  But  breakfast  is  ready.  You  must 
be  hungry." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Well,  then,  come  along  with  me." 

In  the  fore-part  of  the  vessel,  on  some  empty 
casks,  a  very  simple  repast  was  spread — bread, 
ham,  a  Gorgonzola  cheese,  some  apples,  and 
some  bottles  of  white  wine. 

"Sit  down,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  pointing  out 
to  Pierre  a  place  beside  him  ;  "and  help  yourself.** 


THE  SOUL    OF  PIERRE,  m 


The  cheer  was  appetizing,  and  the  painter 
did  honor  to  it.  While  he  ate,  he  observed 
that  his  companions  remained  silent. 

"Is  it  on  my  account  you  are  silent?"  he 
asked  suddenly.  "I  should  be  sorry  if  it 
were." 

The  captain  looked  at  him  tranquilly. 

"No,"  he  said,  "but  we  are  always  together, 
and  we  have  little  news  to  tell  each  other. 
And  then  the  sea  prevents  one  talking  much. 
It  talks  always.  It  is  a  great  babbler,  and  the 
sailor  listens  to  it." 

The  others  nodded  approvingly.  Then 
Pierre,  pouring  some  wine  into  his  tin  cup, 
raised  it  and  said : 

"To  your  health,  my  friends." 

They  all  raised  their  cups  and  gravely  re- 
peated : 

"To  your  health." 

And  after  they  had  drunk  some  boiling  hot 
coffee  and  some  excellent  rum,  without  wast- 
ing any  more  time  at  table  they  rose  and  each 
one  set  about  his  work.  The  day  passed  with 
incredible  swiftness,  and   in  the  evening  the 


112  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

cutter  entered  the  port  of  Bastia.  On  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  the  Board  of  Health  having 
given  permission,  the  crew  of  the  little  vessel 
made  ready  to  land.  Agostino,  following 
Pierre,  made  him  sit  beside  him  in  the  fore- 
part of  the  boat.  It  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to 
play  the  part  of  host  and  make  him  welcome 
to  his  country.  He  pointed  out  to  him  the 
various  places  of  interest  of  the  town :  the 
Place  St.  Nicolas,  which  overlooks  the  sea;  the 
Boulevard  de  la  Traverse,  a  rich  and  populous 
quarter,  the  convent  of  Saint  Roch  on  the 
heights,  the  citadel,  and  the  ruins  of  the  an- 
cient donjons,  destroyed  by  the  cannons  and 
by  fire,  during  the  wars  against  the  Genoese. 
Framing  in  this  amphitheatre  of  houses  ex- 
tending from  the  sea-shore  half-way  up  the 
mountain,  were  gardens,  green  and  flourishing, 
where  the  orange-trees  and  mimosas  shed 
around  their  exquisite  perfumes.  Above  the 
town  the  brushwood,  the  short  and  dry  vegeta- 
tion which  covers  the  sides  of  all  the  moun- 
tains of  Corsica  and  constitutes  what  is  called 
le  maquis — broom,   heather,  junipers,   masticj 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  113 

and  small  fir-trees,  that,  finding  on  the  rock 
hardly  sufificient  earth  for  their  roots  to  cling 
to  offer  an  asylum  which  is  almost  impene- 
trable to  game  and  to  bandits.  On  the  sum- 
mits of  the  mountains  are  fine  groves  of  beech- 
trees,  the  wealth  of  the  country,  plundered 
by  the  peasants,  and  destroyed  by  the  shep- 
herds, who  burn  them  to  make  pasture  land. 

All  this  Agostino  told  his  preserver  while 
the  boat  sailed  by  the  mole  of  the  Dragon  on 
its  way  to  the  quay. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  they  dis- 
embarked, and  Pierre,  a  little  dizzy,  found  him- 
self once  more  on  terra  firma.  He  still  wore 
his  coat,  his  coarse  woolen  trousers  and  his 
coarse  shoes.  He  had  left  behind  his  other 
clothing,  ruined  by  the  salt  water,  and  brought 
with  him  only  his  money  and  his  watch.  On 
the  quay  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  window 
of  a  tavern,  and  with  the  bandage  covering  his 
forehead,  he  fancied  he  had  the  air  of  a  genuine 
brigand.  He  seized  Agostino  by  the  arm  and 
stopped  him. 

"Where  are  we  going  at  such  a  rate?"  he  said. 


114  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"To  breakfast,  in  the  first  place,"  said  the 
young  man,  "and  then  to  our  village.  We 
have  a  week's  holiday  while  we  are  waiting  for 
other  goods." 

"Well  then,  come,  breakfast  with  me.  After- 
ward you  will  show  me  the  way  to  an  inn." 

"Wont  you  come  with  me  to  our  village?" 
said  Agostino  in  a  trembling  voice.  "I  had 
promised  myself  to  make  my  mother  kiss  you." 

"L  would  go  with  you  very  willingly,"  said 
Pierre,  laughing;  "but  have  you  forgotten  that 
I  promised  the  captain  to  repaint  his  Saint 
Laurent  for  him.  What  is  promised  must  be 
done." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Agostino  gayly.  "But 
how  long  will  it  take  you  to  do  the  work." 

"The  whole  of  to-morrow  morning." 

"So  that  to-morrow  evening  you  will  be 
ready  to  accompany  me." 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Then  I  will  wait  for  you.  Meantime  I 
shall  go  and  engage  the  carriole  of  Father 
Anton.  In  that  way  you  will  make  the  jour- 
ney more  comfortably." 


THE   SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  Ii5 

"Very  well,  it  is  settled  then." 

They  soon  reached  the  inn  of  Santa  Maria, 
where  Agostino  was  held  in  high  favor  on 
account  of  the  excellent  viands,  smuggled  from 
Greece  and  Italy,  which  he  brought  there 
every  month. 

Installed  in  a  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
Pierre  was  able,  for  the  first  time  in  three  days, 
to  examine  his  situation  and  reflect  upon  his 
future  course.  On  the  one  hand  he  experi- 
enced a  profound  disgust  at  the  thought  of 
returning  to  France.  On  the  other  he  was 
loath  to  cause  annoyance  to  Agostino.  Every- 
thing, then,  conspired  to  keep  him  where  he 
was,  and  then  the  charm  of  this  wonderful 
country  exercised  its  spell  over  him.  Every, 
thing  around  him  allured  him — the  scenery, 
savage  and  attractive  at  the  same  time,  the 
curious  customs  of  the  people,  and,  finally,  the 
fact  of  his  being  unknown,  which  allowed  him 
to  live  at  his  ease  among  the  peasantry,  so 
interesting  a  subject  for  study  in  this  country 
where  the  beggars  have  the  haughty  airs  of 
grand  seigneurs.    All  that  Merim^e  had  writ- 


Ii6  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 

ten  about  it  recurred  to  his  mind — the  poetic 
figure  of  the  wild  Colombe,  the  ferocious  ha- 
tred of  the  Baricini ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  time 
had  gone  back  two  centuries,  in  this  island, 
divided  now  as  of  old  by  the  animosities  of  its 
rival  parties,  and  agitated  by  the  sanguinary 
memories  of  vendettas. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  wandering  through 
the  streets  of  the  town  alone,  for  Agostino, 
with  great  discretion,  had  left  him  to  himself. 
He  did  not  feel  a  moment's  ennui.  The  com- 
ing and  going  of  the  inhabitants,  grave  and 
reserved,  the  picturesque  dress  of  the  peasants 
who  had  come  in  to  market,  almost  all 
armed  with  guns,  the  sombre  garments  of  the 
women  with  their  black  mezzaro  headdresses 
looking  as  if  they  were  all  in  mourning, 
enchanted  him. 

He  entered  a  tailor's  shop  and  bought  a 
complete  suit  of  brown  velvet,  resembling  the 
costume  of  a  Calabrian  brigand,  for  he  could 
not  decently  continue  to  wear  his  coat,  his 
sailor  trousers  and  his  coarse  shoes.  At  a 
paint  shop  in  La  Trayerse  he  bought  a  box  of 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  117 

paints  and  some  brushes  of  various  sizes.  And 
his  mind  now  at  rest  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  should  employ  his  time  in  the  native  land 
of  Bonaparte,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  inn. 
He  dined  with  Agostino,  made  the  tour  of  the 
town  afterward,  went  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock 
and  slept  a  dreamless  sleep. 

The  sunshine  streaming  into  his  window 
awoke  him.  He  jumped  out  of  bed,  and 
dressed  himself.  Then,  taking  his  box  under 
his  arm,  he  set  out  for  the  cutter.  A  boat,  for 
a  few  sous,  transported  him  to  the  little  vessel, 
moored  fast  by  its  two  anchors,  and  at  the  side 
of  which  a  rude  plank,  attached  by  two  cords 
to  the  bowsprit,  formed  a  sort  of  swing  in 
front  of  the  image  of  the  Saint — the  patron  of 
the  vessel. 

Guided  by  the  captain  and  assisted  to  his 
place  by  the  crew,  Pierre  at  once  set  himself  to 
his  work.  While  he  was  painting  the  rude 
image  of  carved  wood,  the  two  sailors  support- 
ing themselves  by  the  rigging  watched  him 
admiringly. 

Under  his  touch  the  colors  glowed,  the  fac^ 


IiS  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

assumed  a  lifelike  expression,  and  the  extended 
arm  seemed  to  command  the  waves.  At  ten, 
the  work  being  completed,  Pierre,  regarded  by 
them  all  with  a  new  feeling  of  respect  inspired 
by  his  skill,  breakfasted  for  the  last  time  with 
his  companions  of  a  day. 

Toward  midday  he  left  the  vessel,  accom- 
panied by  all  the  crew,  and  after  shaking  hands 
with  those  to  whom  he  owed  more  than  life, 
he  mounted  with  Agostino  a  sort  of  curricle, 
drawn  by  a  shaggy  horse,  and  starting  off  at  a 
quick  pace  they  soon  left  Bastia  behind  them. 

From  the  town  hall  of  the  village  the  road 
winds  through  enclosures  planted  with  vines, 
along  olive  groves  and  among  little  woods  of 
eucalyptus  and  green  oaks.  The  soil  is  sandy 
and  the  climate  extremely  mild.  Streams, 
descending  from  the  mountains,  spread  them- 
selves through  the  earth,  forming  marshes 
covered  with  rose  bushes,  and  broad  green  mea- 
dow-land over  which  fly  flocks  of  ducks  and  wild 
geese.  The  road  winds  for  half  of  the  way  along 
the  beach,  passing  through  infrequent  villages. 
Agostino,  urging  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  explained 


TUE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE,      "  It9 

to  his  companion  the  habits  and  customs  of  the 
country,  expressing  himself  with  an  effusion 
and  gayety  that  contrasted  strongly  with  the 
gravity  he  had  shown  on  board.  He  seemed 
like  a  school  boy  enjoying  his  vacation. 

"You  shall  see  how  rich  our  country  is,"  he 
said.  "We  are  not  lazy  keepers  of  flocks.  At 
Torrevecchio  there  is  trade !  My  father  sold 
his  own  wine,  and  our  vineyard  is  of  some 
value.  My  brother-in-law  cultivates  it  at  pre- 
sent and  sells  the  produce.  My  mother  and 
youngest  sister  live  in  a  village,  where  they 
raise  vegetables  for  the  market  of  the  neighbor- 
ing town,  and  I  let  them  want  for  nothing. 
Ah,  they  will  love  you  dearly  when  they  know 
what  you  have  done  for  me !" 

The  painter  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the 
grateful  affection  of  these  poor  people.  "I 
shall  not  be  a  restraint  upon  them  for  long,"  he 
thought.  "I  will  soon  get  away.  After  a  day 
spent  in  the  village  a  guide  can  conduct  me 
across  the  mountain,  for  I  do  not  care  to 
remain  by  the  sea-coast,  in  the  low  country. 
I  want  to  see  the  Corsican  in  his  rude  state— 


I20  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

the  maquis  and  the  brigands.  If  there  are 
sketches  to  be  made  they  must  be  taken  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Bocognano,  the  holy  land  of 
the  vendetta.  I  have  twenty  louis  in  my 
pocket-book,  and  in  my  portfolio  a  note  of  a 
thousand  francs  saved  from  the  waves.  That  is 
more  than  I  need  to  live  a  couple  of  months 
on  in  this  primitive  country  in  the  midst  of 
these  people  who  have  no  wants.  And  when 
I  have  no  more  money  I  shall  have  my  profes- 
sion. I  shall  paint  portraits,  for  a  hundred 
sous  a  sitting — that  will  take  me  back  to  my 
youth." 

The  carriole,  having  crossed  the  bridge  of 
San  Pancrazio,  rolled  along  the  precipitous 
road  between  rows  of  century-old  chestnuts. 
The  sun  was  sinking  below  the  horizon,  red- 
dening the  mountain  with  his  last  rays.  Agos- 
tino  turned  into  a  little  path,  along  which  he 
drove,  whistling  gayly,  like  the  blackbirds  of 
his  country.  At  the  end  of  a  few  hundred 
yards  he  stopped  before  the  wall  of  an  en- 
closed piece  of  land,  and  jumped  to  the 
ground.     A  large  dog,  which  had  appeared  at 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  121 

the  sound,  barking  with  a  ferocious  air,  rushed 
between  the  young  man's  legs,  now  barking 
joyfully.  An  old  woman  and  a  little  girl 
made  their  appearance  in  the  orchard,  and  ran 
to  him  with  open  arms.  Agostino  embraced 
them  with  effusion,  and  then  pushed  them  to- 
ward his  preserver,  telling  them  of  his  adven- 
ture, in  the  Corsican  patois,  with  incredible 
volubility.  Pierre,  received  with  open  arms 
by  these  good  people,  overwhelmed  with  their 
gratitude,  drawn  into  the  whirlwind  of  their 
extravagant  joy,  licked  by  the  dog,  embraced 
by  the  mother  and  the  children,  soon  found 
himself  installed  in  the  house,  a  very  modest 
one,  but  exquisitely  clean,  seated  at  the  family 
table,  and  experiencing  a  feeling  of  tranquil 
satisfaction  to  which  he  had  been  a  stranger 
for  many  months. 

He  retired  early,  thanking  his  hosts  for  their 
hospitality,  rose  late  on  the  following  morning, 
visited  the  surroundings  of  the  house,  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  brother-in-law  of  Agostino, 
who  was  a  great  hunter,  and  his  sister,  who 
was  a  notable  housewife,  played  with  the  little 


122  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 


Marietta,  who  ever  since  the  evening  before 
had  been  watching  him  with  her  piercing  black 
eyes,  disclosing  her  white  teeth  in  a  smile, 
but  showing  rustic  timidity  whenever  she 
approached  him. 

Night  came  with  surprising  rapidity,  with- 
out Pierre's  having  done  anything  more 
than  live.  Alone  in  his  room,  stretched  on 
the  fresh  corn  mattress,  he  smiled  at  him- 
self. 

"Here  I  am  leading  the  innocent  life  of  a 
shepherd,"  he  said,  "and  resolved  to  become 
a  new  man,  morally  and  mentally.  What 
would  my  companions  and  friends  say  if  they 
could  see  me  indulging  in  these  idyllic  dreams? 
They  would  say  that  the  Madonna,  in  whom 
every  one  here  believes  so  firmly,  has  visibly 
protected  me.  Pierre  Laurier,  my  boy,  you 
were  on  a  bad  road.  By  a  miracle,  you  have 
been  led  into  safety.  Profit  by  the  favor  that 
Providence  has  shown  you,  enjoy  the  years  that 
are  left  you,  and  turn  them  to  account,  working 
untrammeled,  a  thing  that  up  to  the  present 
you  have  had   little  chance  of  doing.     You 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE,  ta^ 

have  been   better  treated   than  you   deserve. 
Be  thankful  for  it." 

He  fell  asleep  in  the  midst  of  these  sage 
reflections,  and  dreamed  that  he  was  painting 
a  picture  in  which  the  evil  genius  had  the  fasci- 
nating and  Satanic  features  of  Clemence  Villa, 
and  the  good  genius  the  angelic  ones  of  Juli- 
ette de  Vignes.  Then  on  the  canvas  appeared 
the  image  of  Jacques,  with  his  blonde  locks  and 
his  melancholy  eyes.  Clemence  approached 
the  sick  man,  and  speaking  to  him  with  anima- 
tion, in  a  low  voice,  drew  him  toward  her 
slowly,  encircling  him  with  her  arms.  The 
young  man  grew  paler,  his  glance  became 
more  melancholy,  his  lips  more  pallid  than  be- 
fore. Then  the  gaze  of  the  painter  wandered 
to  Juliette,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  oppressed 
with  a  mortal  sadness.  Her  hands  were  joined 
together  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  and  it  was 
not  for  her  brother  alone  she  prayed.  An- 
other name  also  was  on  her  lips,  and  Pierre 
divined  that  it  was  his.  He  would  then  have 
rushed  to  her  to  reassure  and  console  her, 
but    the   arm    of    Jacques   was    interposed  to 


f24  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERkit. 


prevent  him,  and  these  words  fell  from  his 
Hps: 

"You  have  bequeathed  to  me  your  soul. 
You  belong  no  longer  to  yourself.  You  have 
not  the  right  to  return  to  life." 

Then  Pierre  stopped,  and  gradually  the  pic- 
ture vanished  from  his  gaze,  and  he  saw  only 
the  little  Marietta  with  her  black  locks  flying 
wildly,  who,  in  the  pastures  shaded  by  ancient 
chestnut  trees,  watched  her  goats.  The  night 
passed  in  these  troubled  dreams,  but  when  he 
awoke  Pierre  recovered  his  calmness  and  set 
out  for  the  chase  with  Agostino  and  his 
brother-in-law.  The  days  passed,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  week  the  sailor  informed  him  that 
he  must  return  to  his  vessel.  He  was  to  be 
away  for  three  weeks,  and  counted  on  finding 
his  preserver  here  on  his  return. 

Pierre  was  already  at  home  in  the  family  of 
Agostino.  These  humble  peasants  showed  for 
him  a  sincere  affection,  such  as  he  had  not 
often  met  with.  As  he  was  not  more  than 
half  inclined  to  leave  them  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  persuaded  to  remain  to  paint  the  por- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I^S 

trait  of  the  little  goat-keeper,  and  in  these  peace- 
ful surroundings,  in  the  midst  of  the  luxuriance 
of  nature,  his  recovered  inspiration  blossomed 
with  a  new  grace  and  power.  He  worked 
every  day  until  four  o'clock,  and  in  the  even- 
ing he  joined  the  family  circle,  which  was  in- 
creased by  the  brother-  n-law,  who  came  after 
dinner  every  day  with  his  wife. 

The  mayor  of  Torrevecchio,  a  violent  Bona- 
partist,  having  learned  that  a  painter  was  stay- 
ing in  the  village,  had  ventured,  accompanied 
by  the  cur6  of  the  parish,  to  go  and  request 
Pierre  to  restore  the  paintings  on  the  walls 
of  the  church,  which  were  the  work  of  an 
Italian  master  and  which  were  interesting, 
dating  from  the  Genoese  occupation  of  the 
country.  Laurier  had  accepted  the  task,  and 
not  content  with  r-etouching  the  defaced  por- 
tions of  the  mi/  al  paintings  of  the  little 
church,  h:id  uwdf*. taken  the  decoration  of  the 
chapel  of  the  Virgin  recently  constructed. 
Absorbed  in  his  work,  amusing  himself  with 
hunting  and  fishing,  without  a  moment  to 
spare,  he  had  returned  so  completely  to  his  old 


126  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRk. 


self  that  he  now  never  thought  of  the  past.  It 
would  have  made  him  blush  with  shame  if  any 
one  had  reminded  him  that  one  summer  night, 
when  the  breeze  was  laden  with  fragrance,  and 
the  soft  murmur  of  the  sea  and  the  splendor 
of  the  heavens  bore  witness  to  the  harmony 
that  reigned  in  the  universe,  a  certain  Pierre 
Laurier  had  contemplated  killing  himself,  for 
the  wicked  eyes  of  a  woman  who  made  his 
life  miserable.  He  would  have  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  declared  that 
there  was  only  one  thing  in  the  world  worth 
striving  for — to  get  the  values  in  a  figure  in 
the  open  air.  And  he  looked  over  the  top  of 
his  palette  through  his  half-closed  eyes  at  little 
Marietta,  who,  seated  on  a  chestnut-log  in  the 
garden,  her  feet  resting  on  the  green  grass,  her 
dog  beside  her,  was  posing  for  him,  proud  to 
be  his  model. 

Agostino  came  back  from  his  trip  to  Leg- 
horn, but  went  away  again  a  few  days  later. 
Pierre  seemed  to  have  accommodated,  himself 
to  his  new  life  and  talked  no  more  of  leaving 
the  country.     He  had  sought  at   Bastia  some 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  1 27 

necessary  articles  of  furniture  for  the  house,  the 
arrival-  of  which  aroused  the  liveliest  curiosity 
among  the  villagers.  They  could  readily  dis- 
tinguish the  difference  of  station  between  the 
painter  and  his  hosts.  The  mayor  and  the 
cure  had  both  declared  that  Pierre  was  a  supe- 
rior man.  His  manners  showed  him  to  be 
city-bred.  His  generosity  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  he  was  rich.  Who  was  he?  Pierre 
was  evidently  only  a  Christian  name.  Was  he 
trying  to  conceal  his  identity?  And  if  so, 
why? 

The  mayor,  piqued  by  curiosity,  proceeded 
quietly  to  investigate  the  matter.  The  prefect 
of  Ajaccio  had  already  received  a  message 
from  the  sub-prefect  of  Bastia,  to  the  effect 
that  a  mysterious  visitor  from  the  mainland 
lived  in  the  house  of  a  humble  family  of  Tor- 
revecchio,  that  he  painted  wonderful  pictures 
on  the  walls  of  the  church,  and  that  although 
everything  about  him  indicated  him  to  be  per- 
fectly honorable,  it  would  yet  be  interesting 
to  find  out  who  he  was.  The  authorities,  how- 
ever,   were   less    ceremonious.      They   simply 


128  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

sent  a  gen-d'arme  to  ask  the  stranger  for  his 
passport.  Fortunately  the  gen-d'arme  took  it 
into  his  head  to  stop  at  the  mayor's  office  on 
his  way  in  order  to  tell  the  mayor  the  object 
of  his  mission.  The  latter  seeing  that  his  in- 
trigues were  about  to  lead  to  an  unjustifiable  in- 
trusion of  the  poHce  on  the  privacy  of  one  for 
whom  he  entertained  particular  consideration, 
took  the  gen-d'arme,  who  was  not  to  blame  in 
the  matter,  to  task  about  it,  and  sent  him  back 
to  town  with  a  letter  for  the  prefect,  thus  spar- 
ing Pierre,  who  was  quietly  pursuing  his  work, 
suspecting  nothing,  a  visit  from  the  police. 
So  that  after  all,  Pierre's  identity  remained 
undiscovered. 

Pierre  had  now  been  about  two  months  at 
Torrevecchio,  hunting,  fishing  and  painting, 
and  he  had  finished,  not  only  the  portrait  of 
Marietta  and  the  painting  in  the  church,  but 
also  two  genre  pictures,  when  one  day,  during 
his  absence  on  a  visit  to  the  silver  mines  of 
Cabor,  a  carriage  coming  from  Bastia  deposited 
at  the  inn  of  Torrevecchio  two  travelers, 
accompanied  by  their  servants,  who  called  for 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  129 

breakfast.  The  innkeeper,  being  asked  as  to 
what  there  was  of  interest  to  be  seen  in  the 
country,  mentioned  the  paintings  of  the  church, 
and  the  younger  of  the  travelers,  whom  his  com- 
panion called  "Doctor,"  went  to  look  at  them. 

Pausing  before  a  picture  of  the  Resurrection, 
which  at  once  attracted  his  attention,  he 
examined  it  with  profound  attention,  and  see- 
ing the  cur^  crossing  the  nave  of  the  church,  he 
said  to  him : 

"You  have  here.  Monsieur  le  Cur^,  a  very 
valuable  work,  by  a  French  artist,  evidently, 
for  the  artist  who  painted  this  is  assuredly  not 
an  Italian." 

"You  are  right.  Monsieur,"  said  the  priest, 
"he  is  a  Frenchman." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Ah,"  said  the  doctor,  "it  is  not  known  who 
the  artist  is,  then." 

"But  he  lives  in  the  village,"  replied  the 
cure,  "and — * 

A  look  of  surprise  crossed  the  doctor's  face 
and  he  said  quickly : 


I30  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"He  has  lived  here  about  two  months,  is  it 
not  so?" 

The  traveler,  reflecting  for  a  moment,  said  to 
himself  in  a  low  voice : 

**Can  it  be  possible?"     Then  aloud: 

"Do  you  know  even  his  Christian  name?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  he  is  called  Pierre." 

"And  he  has  chestnut  hair,  blue  eyes,  a 
blonde  mustache,  and  is  of  medium  height," 
said  the  traveler  quickly. 

"A  blonde  mustache?  No,"  said  the  priest, 
"but  his  eyes  are  blue,  and  he  is  not  above 
medium  height." 

"It  is  he,  it  must  be  he,"  cried  the  doctor. 
"And  then  there  is  no  one  but  himself  who 
could  paint  this  Resurrection." 

"You  know  this  young  man,  then?"  said  the 
priest.  "Ah,  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  to 
inform  us — " 

"Who  he  is?  I  cannot  do  that,  since  it 
is  his  wish  to  remain  unknown.  But  I  may 
at  least  tell  you  that  the  artist  who  has 
done  these  paintings  for  you  is  one  of  the 
most  promising  of  the  younger  painters  of  the 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  131 

French  school — But  I  must  see  him ;  where 
is  he?" 

"He  is  away  for  a  few  days." 

"Away?  And  we  are  going  to-morrow !  No 
matter.  I  must  leave  a  sign  of  my  presence 
here  for  him." 

He  took  a  pencil  from  his  pocket-book,  and 
proceeded  to  write  on  the  whitewashed  wall, 
first  saying  to  the  priest : 

"Will  you  permit  me,  Monsieur  le  Cur^?" 

"Go  on,"  answered  the  latter. 

Then  the  stranger  wrote  these  words  below 
the  "Resurrection"  painted  by  Pierre: 

"Et  idem  resurrexit  Petrus,"and  underneath, 
"Davidoff." 

Then  turning  to  the  cur6,  "When  he 
returns,"  he  sard,  "show  him  these  words.  He 
will  know  what  they  mean." 

He  then  took  leave  of  the  priest,  and  return- 
ing to  the  inn,  said  to  his  companion: 

"My  dear  Count,  you  made  a  mistake  in  not 
coming  out  with  me :  you  have  missed  some- 
thing very  curious." 

"What  is  that?" 


132  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"I  will  tell  you  when  we  are  on  board. 
While  we  are  here  it  must  be  a  secret." 

The  two  travelers  then  lighted  their  cigars, 
entered  the  carriage,  and  proceeded  on  their 
way. 

The  next  day  but  one,  Pierre  returned  from 
his  expedition  with  the  brother-in-law  of  Agos- 
tino,  bringing  with  him  a  pair  of  pretty  silver 
earrings  for  Marietta  and  a  buckle  for  her 
mother.  He  breakfasted  early,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  work,  when  the  cur6,  pushing  open 
the  glass  door  of  the  parlor,  entered. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  le  Cur^ !"  cried  Pierre.  "To 
what  are  we  indebted  for  this  pleasure?" 

"A  message  with  which  I  have  been  intrusted 
for  you." 

"Ah!     And  by  whom?" 

"A  stranger." 

Pierre's  forehead  clouded,  and  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  slightly,  he  said : 

"Let  me  hear  what  it  is." 

"If  you  will  accompany  me  to  the  church," 
said  the  priest,  "you  will  learn  it  more  quickly 
and  more  fully  than  I  could  tell  you." 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  133 

"I  am  at  your  orders." 

He  took  his  hat  and  went  out  with  the 
priest. 

For  some  time  they  walked  on  in  silence. 
As  they  were  nearing  the  great  square  the  cure 
said : 

"A  stranger  has  been  looking  at  your  paint- 
ing, and  he  has  assured  me  that  you  have 
enriched  our  church  with  a  picture  of  great 
value." 

Pierre  did  not  answer.  He  nodded  without 
speaking  and  hastened  his  steps  as  if  eager  to 
learn  what  was  awaiting  him. 

He  crossed  the  nave  of  the  church,  stopped 
before  his  "Resurrection,"  and  with  an  emotion 
which  he  could  not  conceal  read  the  Latin 
inscription  on  the  wall:  "Et  idem  resurrexit 
Petrus — Davidoff."  He  heaved  a  sigh,  repeated 
in  a  choking  voice,  "Davidoff,"  and  then 
relapsed  into  silence. 

The  cur^,  translating  the  Latin  phrase,  said 
behind  him : 

**  'And  in  the  same  way,  Pierre  has  arisen 
from  the  dead.*      Then   a  miracle    has   been 


134  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


wrought  for  you?  My  dear  child,  we  must 
pr-iise  the  mercy  of  God." 

Pierrre  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead, 
smiled  at  the  priest,  who  regarded  him  with 
astonishment,  and  in  a  grave  voice  said : 

"Yes,  a  miracle  has  been  wrought  for  me, 
and  God  be  praised  for  it." 

He  relapsed  once  more  into  silent  medita- 
tion as  if  he  were  recalling  the  past.  Then  he 
said  softly : 

"Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  thank  you  for  having 
taken  this  trouble.  What  you  have  told  me 
has  a  profound  interest  for  me.  Au  revoir 
Monsieur  le  Cur^." 

And  with  a  slow  step  and  eyes  bent  upon 
the  ground,  he  returned  to  the  house  of  Agos- 
tino's  mother. 

On  the  following  day  one  of  the  acolytes 
brought  him  a  letter  which  had  been  posted 
at  Ajaccio,  bearing  this  address : 

"  Monsieur  Pierre^  care  of  Monsieur  le  Cur^ 
de  Torrevecchioy 

He  opened  the  letter  with  emotion.  It  con- 
tained these  lines: 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  135 


"My  dear  Friend  :  You  are  still  among  the 
living;  a  more  agreeable  surprise  could  not 
have  awaited  me.  It  was  I  who  performed  the 
painful  task  of  taking  to  Beaulieu  the  note  in 
which  you  announced  your  fatal  resolution, 
which  happily  was  not  carried  out.  He  to 
whom  you  bequeathed  your  soul,  whether  by 
a  miracle  or  through  the  power  of  imagination, 
suddenly  felt  a  renewal  of  life  and  is  now 
almost  restored  to  health.  But  one  who  is 
closely  connected  with  him  came  near  losing 
her  life  in  consequence  of  the  news  of  your 
death.  In  the  depths  of  your  retreat,  know 
that  you  passed  close  to  happiness  without 
perceiving  it,  but  that  it  is  still  in  your  power 
to  obtain  it. 

"Your  sincere  friend, 

"Davidoff." 

Having  read  the  letter,  Pierre  folded  it,  put 
it  into  his  pocket  and  left  the  house.  He 
walked  thoughtfully  along  the  road  to  Bastia, 
pausing  when  he  reached  the  shore.  The 
calm  blue  sea  sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  The  vessels  in  the  dis- 
tance, their  sails  shining  in  the  sunlight,  glided 
along  so  slowly  as  to  seem  almost  motionless. 


13^'  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

The  young  man  sat  down  on  a  rock,  and,  as  on 
the  evening  when  he  had  contemplated  suicide, 
he  fell  into  a  revery.  Slowly  the  image  of 
Jacques  rose  before  him,  his  face  no  longer 
pale  and  gloom}^  but  radiant  with  health  and 
youth.  He  walked  with  buoyant  step  on  the 
verdant  terrace  of  the  house  at  Beaulieu.  All 
nature  had  awakened  at  the  balmy  breath  of 
spring,  and  Jacques,  like  the  plants  and  the 
flowers,  seemed  animated  with  new  life.  Sud- 
denly Juliette  appeared  beside  him,  and  now 
it  was  she  who  was  ill  and  sad.  Under  her 
beautiful  eyes  were  black  rings,  her  cheeks 
were  hollow,  and  in  her  smile  there  was  the 
heart-rending  sweetness  of  a  last  farewell. 

A  shudder  passed  through  Pierre.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  gaze  of  the  young  girl, 
fixed  upon  the  sea,  sought  vainly  in  its  blue 
waters  for  something  that  was  not  there.  He 
saw  this  girl  whose  affection,  reciprocated  for 
a  moment,  he  had  afterward  disdained,  dying 
slowly  of  grief  for  his  loss.  He  heard  a  voice 
murmur  beside  him :  "It  is  you  who  are  the 
cause  of  her  tears,  of  her  suffering,  of  her  Ian- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  137 

guor.  You  have  just  heard  it — she  is  dying 
because  she  beheves  that  you  are  dead. 
You  had  but  to  utter  a  word,  and  this  inno- 
cent heart,  filled  with  your  image,  would  have 
opened  to  receive  you.  You  had  happiness 
and  peace  in  your  grasp  but  you  flung  them 
recklessly  away.  Why  delay  longer  in  trying 
to  regain  them?  Will  you  let  her  whom  you 
love  perish?  You  have  only  to  go  to  her  and 
she  will  revive  again.  Come,  begin  life  anew. 
The  future  is  yours,  since  you  are  loved." 

He  heaved  a  sigh  and  tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes — the  first  he  had  shed  since  the  tears  of 
rage  and  shame  of  which  Clemence  Villa  had 
been  the  cause.  But  he  did  not  long  give  way 
to  his  emotion.  He  wished  to  examine  his 
own  heart,  and  judge  himself  with  impartial 
severity.  Was  he  purified  and  regenerated  by 
this  voluntary  withdrawal  from  all  he  had  held 
dear?  Did  he  feel  himself  capable  of  leading 
a  new  life?  If  temptation  came  in  his  way 
would  he  have  the  strength  to  resist  it?  He 
trembled.  A  pale,  dark  face  with  gleaming 
eyes  rose  before  him.     From  its  lips  came  a 


138  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 


sardonic  burst  of  laughter  as  on  the  night 
when  he  had  resolved  to  end  his  life.  What 
was  she  laughing  at,  showing  her  white  teeth 
and  the  dimples  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth? 
Was  it  at  him?  Was  she  then  so  sure  of  her 
power  to  bring  him  to  her  feet,  the  day  she 
should  take  it  into  her  head  to  do  so?  Was 
he,  then,  her  slave? 

He  feared  so; — his  weakness  had  been  so 
great,  his  follies  so  disastrous,  his  cowardice  so 
complete,  his  fall  so  low.  At  the  thought  of 
again  coming  into  the  toils  of  this  cruel  and 
heartless  woman  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon 
his  forehead  and  his  heart  beat  with  anguish. 
He  fancied  if  he  saw  death  before  him  a  sec- 
ond time  he  would  again  choose  it  in  prefer- 
ence to  such  humiliation.  He  dropped  his 
head  between  his  hands  dejectedly,  and,  gaz- 
ing at  the  sea  which  was  now  reddened  by  the 
splendors  of  the  sunset,  surrounded  by  the 
peace  and  the  grandeur  of  nature,  he  fell  into 
a  revery. 

Gradually  his  thoughts  grew  clearer,  and  he, 
who  had  not  prayed  since  his  childhood,  seeing 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  1^9 


himself  so  solitary,  so  sad,  and  so  forsaken, 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  in  prayer.  He  asked 
nothing  for  himself.  However  hard  and 
wretched  his  own  lot  might  be,  he  accepted  it 
without  a  murmur.  But  this  pure  and  gentle 
creature,  was  she  not  innocent  of  blame,  and 
did  she  not  deserve  to  be  spared  from  suffer- 
ing. For  her  he  implored  hope  and  peace. 
Since  he  had  the  happiness  to  be  loved  bv  her, 
let  her  at  least  be  endowed  with  the  sirength 
to  live  until  his  heart  should  be  washed  free 
from  its  stains.  Could  Divine  Justice  refuse 
her  this  peace?  In  the  midst  of  the  solitude 
surrounding  him  he  allowed  himself  to  utter  a 
few  words  of  prayer. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  arrested  by  an 
occurrence  which  symbolized  in  an  instant  his 
fears  and  hopes. 

From  a  point  of  rock  jutting  out  into  the  sea 
at  his  feet  a  dove  had  just  flown  in  terror. 
An  eagle  followed  close  behind  trying  to  cap- 
ture her.  She  made  desperate  efforts  to 
escape,  but  the  bird  of  prey  gained  upon  her 
steadily,  uttering  a  shrill  cry  at  every  stroke  of 


14<^  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

his  powerful  wings.  Pierre,  struck  by  the 
sight,  said  to  himself,  "Let  this  be  a  sign.  If 
the  eagle  captures  his  prey,  all  is  over  with 
Juliette  and  me.  If  the  dove  succeeds  in 
escaping,  then  I  may  hope  to  appear  before  her 
again,  worthy  of  happiness." 

From  the  moment  in  which  he  thus  suc- 
cinctly formulated  the  problem  of  his  destiny 
Pierre,  in  breathless  suspense,  followed  with 
his  eyes  the  conflict  between  the  two  birds. 
The  eagle  had  lowered  his  flight,  and  was  now 
close  to  the  dove  and  almost  directly  above 
her,  menacing  her  with  his  sharp  beak  and  livid 
claws.  Terrified,  the  poor  bird  directed  its 
flight  toward  a  clump  of  oaks,  hoping  to  take 
refuge  there.  But  her  ferocious  enemy,  divin- 
ing her  intention,  hastened  his  flight  toward 
her.  Pierre,  his  heart  oppressed,  his  hands 
trembling,  longed  to  give  some  of  his  strength 
to  the  dove :  he  saw  the  moment  approach  in 
which  she  must  succumb  to  her  pursuer.  Just 
as  the  rapacious  bird  was  about  to  seize  his 
victim,  a  shot  was  heard.  The  eagle  turned 
over  in  the  air  mortally  wounded,  and  fell  to 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  14 1 

the  ground,  and  the  dove,  saved  from  his 
clutches,  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

Pierre  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  The  response 
to  his  question  had  been  decisive  and  imme- 
diate. Destiny  had  interposed  in  his  favor  in  an 
undeniable  manner.  The  invisible  marksman 
whose  intervention  had  thus  settled  the  ques- 
tion, had  he  not  been  guided  to  the  spot  in 
order  to  put  an  end  to  Pierre's  anguish?  But 
by  a  sudden  return  of  his  former  mocking 
humor  he  began  to  laugh  at  the  thought  that 
a  shot  fired  at  a  bird  should  thus  be  the  arbiter 
of  his  fate.     He  shook  his  head. 

"Work,  that  is  the  true  panacea,"  he  said. 
"The  day  I  abandoned  it,  I  was  lost.  I  have 
returned  to  it,  it  will  save  me.** 

The  sun  sank  into  the  sea,  red  as  fire. 
Pierre  rose  and  returned  to  the  village  with  a 
more  tranquil  heart. 


IV. 

IT  was  the  first  Sunday  of  the  Carnival,  and 
the  Casino  at  Nice,  splendidly  illuminated, 
was  thrown  open  for  the  grand  veglione.  In 
the  Place  Mass^na  a  crowd  of  curious  specta- 
tors were  watching  the  masqueraders  entering 
the  building,  grouped  around  the  burlesque 
throne  on  which  King  Carnival,  in  his  spangled 
robes,  had  been  sitting  solemnly  for  two  days 
past,  the  sceptre  of  Folly  in  his  hand.  The 
strains  of  the  band  filled  the  air,  and  the  gay 
measures  of  waltz  and  quadrille,  drowned  by 
the  buzzing  of  the  crowd  that  ceaselessly 
surged  through  the  vast  edifice  given  up  to 
fun  and  frolic,  could  be  heard  in  bursts  from 
time  to  time. 

From  the  outside  the  scene  looked  like  a 
gay  parterre.  A  crowd  of  elegantly  dressed 
figures,  some  with  masks  and  some  without, 
and  all  wearing  dominos,  of  various  colors, 
passed  back  and  forth  in  the  great  hall,  with 
143 


144  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

bursts  of  laughter  and  lively  repartee.  In  the 
room  where  the  orchestra  was  stationed,  danc- 
ing was  going  on,  in  the  boxes  conversation 
and  intrigue.  All  the  lovely  and  seductive 
women  of  Monaco,  Nice,  and  Cannes,  were 
here  assembled  to  delight  the  eye. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room,  leaning  against 
the  wall,  Prince  Patrizzi  stood  chatting  and 
watching  the  coming  and  going  of  the 
dominos  as  they  passed  through  the  hall. 
With  the  help  of  the  gay  friends  who  sur- 
rounded him,  he  amused  himself  in  guessing 
the  names  of  the  women  who  participated  in 
the  gayeties  of  the  night  under  cover  of  their 
masks.  He  had  already  succeeded  in  guessing 
several,  when  suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise : 

"Why,  there  is  Jacques  de  Vignes!"  he 
cried. 

It  was  indeed  Jacques,  animated  and  erect, 
his  complexion  fresh,  his  eyes  clear.  His  blue 
domino  floated  behind  him,  giving  him  the  air 
of  a  gallant  cavalier  of  the  Renaissance.  He 
came  forward  to  meet  them  half-way,  his  hand 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE,  145 

extended,  smiling  and  happy,  as  he  had  been 
before  his  illness ;  not  haggard  and  weary  look- 
ing, as  he  was  on  the  evening,  some  months 
before,  on  which  Dr.  Davidoff  had  related  his 
fantastic  stories  after  a  gay  dinner.  The  trans- 
formation was  complete.  Triumphant,  almost 
insolent,  he  seemed  in  the  splendor  of  his 
youth  and  health  so  miraculously  regained. 

"You  are  entirely  recovered,  Jacques?"  asked 
the  Prince. 

"Entirely,"  said  the  young  man,  "as  you 
see." 

"All  honor  be  to  the  climate  that  has 
restored  you  to  yourself  and  to  us,  for  you 
were  a  jolly  fellow,  and  you  will  be  one  again." 

The  young  man  leaned  against  the  column 
beside  Patrizzi,  and  letting  his  eyes  wander  over 
the  motley  crowd,  that  streamed  by  noisily, — 

"And  I  enjoy  life,  my  dear  Prince,"  he  said 
with  ardor,  "like  a  man  who  knows  what  it  is 
to  have  almost  lost  it.  You  have  never  been 
seriously  ill ;  you  do  not  know  the  melancholy 
languor  that  takes  possession  of  the  spirit  as 
the  strength  of  the  body  decreases.     It  seems 


146  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

as  if  a  black  veil  covered  all  nature,  so  sombre 
and  desolate  does  everything  appear.  The 
nnoments  in  which  one  might  be  happy  are 
poisoned  by  the  thought  that  they  may  perhaps 
be  the  last  we  shall  enjoy,  and  the  more  beauti- 
ful and  peaceful  one's  surroundings  are  the  more 
does  one  execrate  them.  You  may  believe 
what  I  say,  for  I  have  experienced  it.  There 
can  be  nothing  more  cruel  or  more  melancholy. 
So  that  now,  after  the  hell  through  which  I 
have  passed,  I  am  in  paradise.  Everything 
pleases,  captivates,  enchants  me.  I  have 
learned  the  value  of  happiness,  and  I  know 
how  to  enjoy  it.  The  sun  seems  to  me  milder, 
the  flowers  more  fragrant,  the  women  more 
charming  than  before.  I  was  on  the  brink  of 
the  grave,  and  thence  springs  my  love  for  life." 
"That's  right,"  said  Patrizzi ;  "it  is  pleasant  to 
hear  you.  But  your  recovery  is  truly  miracu- 
lous. Now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it — what 
wonderful  story  is  that  we  heard  about  it? 
Did  not  some  one  make  you  a  present  of  a  new 
soul?  Davidoff  pretends  that  it  is  not  you 
who  are  alive,  but  your  friend  Laurier,  and  he 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  147 

adds  that  you  are  very  lucky  in  the  change,  for 
Pierre  was  of  the  stuff  that  centenarians  are 
made  of." 

The  Prince  gave  a  burst  of  laughter  which 
made  Jacques  turn  pale,  and  called  the  mois- 
ture to  his  brow. 

"I  beg  of  you,"  said  the  young  man,  "not  to 
speak  of  that  again ;  it  is  very  painful  to  me. 
Laurier  was  the  friend  of  my  childhood,  and 
his  loss  will  be  long  and  deeply  felt  by  me.  If 
the  case  had  been  reversed  and  it  were  I  who 
had  given  my  life  to  him,  the  world  would 
have  gained  by  the  change,  for  Pierre  was  an 
artist  of  indubitable  genius,  and  I  shall  never 
be  worth  anything." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  feverishly  and 
in  a  trembling  voice,  Jacques's  pallor  increased. 
His  gaze  was  clouded,  and  his  features  sud- 
denly seemed  to  contract,  giving  greater  prom- 
inence to  the  cheek-bones  and  the  teeth. 

He  was  seized  with  a  sort  of  trembling  as  if 
he  had  a  fever.  He  bit  his  lips,  which  had  be- 
come livid,  and  tried  to  smile.  But  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  in  a  vision  of  death,  he  presented 


148  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

to  his  friends,  instead  of  his  former  healthy 
and  happy  look,  the  ghastly  appearance  of  a 
dying  man. 

A  moment  later  the  blood  returned  to  his 
cheeks,  his  look  brightened,  and  Jacques  was 
once  more  what  he  had  been  before,  brilliant 
and  haughty.  He  seemed  to  wish  to  shake  off 
a  painful  impression,  and  taking  a  turn  in  the 
room  he  cried,  with  a  gayety  that  was  some- 
what forced : 

"What  a  lovely  evening,  made  indeed  for 
pleasure !  In  the  street  all  is  noise  and  gayety, 
and  here  everything  is  lovely  and  seductive." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  a  white  domino, 
emerging  from  a  group,  approached  him,  and 
said  in  a  disguised  voice : 

**Lovely  and  seductive?  Let  us  see  if  your 
acts  will  accord  with  your  words." 

Through  her  mask,  the  domino  fixed  upon 
Jacques  a  brilliant  glance.  The  young  man 
felt  a  supple  arm  slip  through  his  own,  and  he 
asked  gayly : 

''Are  you  in  the  humor  for  an  adventure? 
Well,  then,  capture  me  and    I  will   be  your 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  149 

slave ;  the  one  will  no  doubt  be  as  easy  as  the 
other." 

The  domino  gave  him  a  gentle  tap  on  the 
cheek  with  her  fan  and  answered : 

"I  forgive  you  the  impertinence  for  the  sake 
of  the  compliment." 

Jacques  looked  at  his  friends  with  a  mali- 
cious smile,  and  slipped  through  the  crowd 
with  his  conquest  leaning  on  his  arm. 

"Well,  Patrizzi,  you  who  have  guessed  the 
names  of  so  many  women,  tell  us  that  of  the 
woman  who  has  carried  away  de  Vignes?" 

"Parbleu  !  May  the  devil  fly  away  with  me 
if  it  is  not  Clemence  Villa !" 

"She  has  soon  forgotten  that  poor  Laurier," 
said  one  of  the  group  surrounding  the  Prince. 

"But  Jacques  has  not  forgotten  him.  Did 
you  note  his  suffering  when  I  spoke  to  him  of 
his  friend?  His  face,  a  moment  before  so 
fresh  and  smiling,  was  ghastly  and  distorted. 
It  was  frightful.  He  looked  like  a  death's- 
head.  Our  friend  Davidoff,  you  will  remem- 
ber, described  with  curious  minuteness  the 
moral  condition  of  the  sick  man  cured  through 


150  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

faith.  The  foundation  of  this  recovery  is 
frail,"  he  said ;  "a  word  would  suffice  to  de- 
stroy it.  The  passionate  conviction  which 
brought  Jacques  back  to  life,  once  weakened, 
he  would  relapse  into  a  condition  worse  than 
before.  He  is  under  a  sort  of  spell.  He  is 
possessed  by  an  idea,  and  this  gives  him 
wonderful  strength." 

"That  is  what  makes  charlatans  and  quacks 
succeed,"  said  the  doctor. 

"And  then,  there  are  besides  imaginary  in- 
valids whom  it  is  easy  to  cure,  and  our  friend 
Jacques  seems  to  be  one  of  them." 

Patrizzi  shook  his  head  and  said  gravely : 

"I  hope  it  may  be  so,  for  his  mother's  sake." 
A  noisy  exclamation  cut  short  his  words.  A 
group  of  masqueraders  pushed  through  the 
crowd,  in  the  midst  of  exclamations  and  bursts 
of  laughter.  The  group  of  which,  the  Neapoli- 
tan was  the  centre  broke  up,  and  each  of  the 
young  men  went  his  way.  Jacques,  his  new 
acquaintance  on  his  arm,  had  gone  out  into 
the  corridor,  examining  curiously  the  masked 
and  hooded  woman  who  drew  him  along,  with 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  iS^ 

a  rapid  step,  as  if  she  feared  to  be  recognized 
or  spoken  to.  Arrived  at  the  door  of  one  of 
the  stage  boxes,  she  gave  two  quick  knocks. 
A  woman  opened  the  door,  and  drawing  aside, 
with  a  silent  smile,  allowed  them  to  pass.  She 
then  discreetly  left  the  room  and  closed  the 
door  of  the  box.  Here  Jacques  and  the 
domino  found  themselves  alone. 

The  young  man  approached  his  companion 
and  attempted  to  seize  her  hand. 

"Be  sensible,  or  I  shall  send  you  back  to 
your  friends." 

"How  can  one  be  sensible  near  you?"  he 
cried,  smiling.  "Ask  something  that  is  possi- 
ble, not  something  that  is  impossible." 

"You  must  obey  me,  however,  or  I  shall  go 
away,  and  we  will  never  meet  again.*^ 

"And  if  I  consent  to  everything  you  exact, 
shall  we  see  each  other  again  then?" 

"Certainly." 

She  sat  down  on  the  divan  in  the  box,  and 
leaned  back,  showing  between  her  mask  and 
her  domino  her  white  neck,  and  under  the 
ruching  of  her  hood  an  ear  delicate  and  pink 


tS2  TI/£:  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

as  a  rose-leaf.  He  sat  down  beside  her,  with 
an  air  of  respectful  propriety,  although  his 
heart  beat  passionately,  so  soon  had  this  m3^s- 
terious  and  fascinating  creature  succeeded  in 
bewildering  his  senses. 

Hidden  in  the  obscurity  of  the  box,  close 
beside  each  other,  Jacques  and  the  masked 
woman  were  absolutely  alone,  more  free  than 
if  silence  and  solitude  reigned  around  them. 
In  a  low  and  insinuating  voice  he  said : 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  not  unknown 
to  me,  and  that  we  have  met  before.  Will  you 
not  show  me  your  face?  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  lose  by  doing  so.  You  are  young,  and  I 
am  sure  you  are  beautiful.  Have  you  any 
reason,  then,  for  wishing  to  remain  unknown?  " 

She  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Even  to  me?" 

She  nodded  again. 

The  young  man  drew  nearer. 

"Where  have  I  seen  you?"  he  asked.  "Here? 
In  Paris?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

He  resumed; 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I53 

"Do  you  live  in  Nice?'* 

She  remained  silent. 

"We  have  met  before,  however,  have  we 
not?" 

A  smile  crossed  the  lips  of  the  unknown. 
She  pushed  Jacques  away  gently,  her  gaze 
seeming  to  dwell  on  him  with  pleasure,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  are  very  inquisitive." 

"And  why  should  I  not  be  so?  Everything 
tells  that  it  is  my  fate  to  love  you,  and  yet  it 
surprises  you  that  I  should  wish  to  know  who 
you  are!  I  shall  know  to-morrow  or  the  day 
after,  or  next  week.  Why  not  gratify  me  to- 
night, this  very  instant,  and  permit  me  to  see 
your  face?  Would  you  have  me  love  you, 
then,  without  knowing  who  you  are?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  murmured. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?  The  anger  of 
some  jealous  tyrant?  Or  perhaps  you  have 
not  confidence  in  my  discretion?" 

She  did  not  stir,  thus  giving  room  to  the 
most  romantic  suppositions  in  his  mind. 

He  smiled,  and  said  passionately : 


154  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

"Be  it  so  then !  I  will  love  you  as  you 
are, — unknown,  masked,  mysterious." 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand  again.  Suddenly 
the  hood  of  her  domino  fell  back,  and  her  mask, 
becoming  displaced,  disclosed  to  view  her  face. 

Jacques  started  to  his  feet,  stepped  back,  and 
cried  in  amazement : 

"Clemence  Villa!" 

At  the  sound  of  her  name  the  actress 
became  calm  and  cold.  She  looked  at 
Jacques,  who,  pale  and  motionless,  was  devour- 
ing her  with  his  eyes.  Throwing  back  her 
domino  with  a  quick  movement,  she  rose  and 
stood  before  him  in  all  her  radiant  beauty. 

**You  desired  to  know  my  name,"  she  said. 
"You  know  it  now." 

Jacques,  without  looking  at  her,  said  slowly : 

"It  is  a  very  short  time  since  poor  Pierre 
killed  himself  on  your  account." 

"On  my  account?"  she  returned  quickly. 
"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that?" 

Jacques  grew  paler  still,  and  looking  at  Cle- 
mence  with  a  glance  of  terror : 

"Do    you    believe    it    was    on    some  other 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I55 


person's  account,  then?"  he  said,  resuming  his 
seat  on  the  sofa  beside  her. 

"Do  you  not  know  that  it  was?" 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly;  he  turned  his 
head  away,  but  seizing  his  arm  with  au- 
thority : 

"It  was  with  me  he  spent  his  last  evening," 
she  said.  "It  was  to  me  he  addressed  his  last 
words.  I  know  what  every  one  else,  even 
Davidoff,  is  ignorant  of.  Pierre,  weary  of  his 
feverish  existence,  disillusionized  regarding  his 
genius,  and  hopeless  of  the  future,  grew  des- 
pondent, and  in  obedience  to  I  know  not  what 
superstitious  idea  resolved  to  sacrifice  his  life 
for  the  sake  of  a  beloved  friend." 

"Be  silent!"  interrupted  Jacques,  almost 
menacingly. 

"Why  should  I  be  silent?  Are  you  afraid 
of  his  ghost  ?  It  would  neither  injure  nor 
reproach  you.  He  knew  that  I  loved  you. 
He  said  to  me,  at  the  moment  when  he  took 
his  fatal  resolution :  'He  will  love  you  better 
than  I  can.  And  if  anything  of  what  I  was 
survives  in  him  it  will  be   a   bond  that  shall 


15^  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


attach  me  to  earth  and  make  me  thrill  with  joy 
in  my  grave.'  " 

At  this  sacrilegious  falsehood  the  young  man 
cast  a  glance  of  terror  at  Clemence.  He  made 
an  effort  to  rise  and  leave  her,  but  his  limbs 
refused  him  their  support,  and  he  sank  back  on 
the  sofa  faint  and  trembling.  He  felt  that  she 
had  spoken  the  truth,  and  that  a  mysterious 
tie  bound  him  already  to  this  woman,  as  if 
Pierre  had  transmitted  his  unconquerable  pas- 
sion for  her  to  him  with  his  soul.  He  rebelled 
against  this  bondage,  however,  and  forgetful  of 
his  recent  eagerness  to  win  her  favor  he  now 
desired  to  leave  the  woman  he  had  so  ardently 
wooed  while  she  was  as  yet  unknown  to 
him.  He  rebelled  against  the  thought  of 
obeying  a  dead  man's  command ;  he  could  not 
consent  to  be  the  executor  of  his  posthumous 
caprices.  He  called  to  his  aid  a  last  remnant 
of  his  former  courage,  coolness,  and  resolution, 
and  rising  turned  a  calm  countenance  toward 
Clemence. 

"I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  be  vanquished 
by  your  spells,  beautiful  enchantress,"  he  said. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  157 


"Besides,  it  was  useless  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
ghosts  to  enslave  me.  Your  lips  and  your  eyes 
would  have  been  sufficient.  You  made  a  great 
mistake  in  mingling  sorcery  with  love.  I 
should  be  afraid  now  of  your  philters." 

"I  shall  have  no  need  to  use  them  with 
you,"  responded  Clemence  in  a  tranquil  voice, 
"and  whether  you  wish  it  or  not  you  shall 
acknowledge  my  power." 

He  opened  his  lips  to  answer  her  in  the 
negative,  but  before  he  could  speak  she  had 
glided  to  the  door  and  vanished  like  a  phan- 
tom from  the  box. 

Left  alone,  Jacques  remained  for  a  moment 
thoughtful.  The  dancing  went  on,  noisy  and 
uproarious,  raising  clouds  of  dust  through  which 
the  lights  of  the  ball-room  shone  dimly.  In  the 
boxes,  the  spectators,  leaning  their  elbows  on 
the  velvet-covered  railings,  formed  gay  and  bril- 
liant groups.  This  overheated  room,  with  its 
glare  and  noise,  was  pervaded  by  a  sense  of 
intense  life.  The  young  man  suddenly  remem- 
bered the  miserable  existence  he  had  so  short  a 
time  ago  been  leading,  and  an  ardent  joy  filled 


15 S  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

his  heart  at  the  thought  that  he  was  once  more 
well  and  strong,  and  free  to  share  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  scene  like  this,  after  having  given  up, 
as  he  had  done,  the  hope  of  ever  being  able  to 
do  so  again; 

How  often  had  he  said  to  himself  with  bitter 
longing:  *'0h,  if  I  could  but  cast  aside  this 
languor,  if  I  could  be  well  and  strong  again, 
with  what  zest  would  I  enjoy  life!"  And  this 
dream  had  become  a  reality.  The  charm  had 
produced  its  miraculous  effects.  Death  had 
abandoned  his  prey.  Or  rather  he  had  chosen 
another  victim  in  his  place,  nobler  and  more 
brilliant  than  he.  At  this  thought  the  pale 
face  of  Pierre  Laurier  rose  before  Jacques's 
mental  vision.  With  closed  eyes,  a  bitter 
smile  upon  his  lips  and  purple  shadows  on  his 
temples,  the  painter  slept  his  last  sleep,  rocked 
by  the  ceaseless  motion  of  the  waves,  caressed 
by  the  sunlight,  lulled  by  the  murmur  of  the 
breeze.  A  wanderer  on  the  surface  of  the 
ocean,  he  rose  and  fell  with  the  tide,  forever 
approaching  and  forever  receding  from  the 
earth    on    which    he    had    suffered    so  much. 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE,  159 

Jacques  followed  with  his  mental  gaze  this 
corpse,  this  waif  of  the  waters,  terrified  by 
the  sinister  apparition,  yet,  egotist  as  he  was, 
reassured  by  the  thought  that  his  friend  was 
indeed  dead,  since  it  was  with  his  life  he  now 
lived.  He  desired  to  shake  off  the  nightmare 
that  so  painfully  oppressed  him.  He  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  the  spell  was  broken. 

Before  him  he  saw  only  the  gallery  filled 
with  spectators  of  the  scene  below,  at  his  feet 
the  floor  of  the  parquette,  occupied  by  a 
motley  crowd  of  dancers.  What  had  seemed 
the  noise  of  the  waves  was  the  sound  of  their 
voices  and  the  stamping  of  their  feet  upon  the 
floor:  the  murmur  of  the  wind  was  the  strains 
of  the  orchestra.  There  had  been  no  appari- 
tion, everything  was  real.  He  felt  eager  and 
vigorous.     And  pleasure  was  within  his  grasp. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead ;  a 
smile  crossed  his  face,  he  opened  the  door  of 
the  box,  went  out  into  the  corridor,  and 
walked  nonchalantly  through  the  crowd. 
Near  the  foyer  he  saw  Patrizzi,  who  was  flirt- 
ing with  a  pretty  woman.     He  ^ipproached  the 


l6o  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

prince  with  all  the  boisterous  gayety  of  his 
wildest  days,  and  said : 

"Shall  we  go  and  have  some  supper,  prince? 
There  must  be  at  least  a  dozen  of  our 
friends  here  whom  we  might  get  to  join  us.  I 
think  we  have  had  all  the  enjoyment  there  is 
to  be  had  in  this  place.     Shall  we  leave  it?" 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  domino 
who  carried  you  off  so  unceremoniously  just 
now?"  asked  the  Neapolitan.  "Have  you  asked 
her  to  be  one  of  the  party?  Is  she  to  accom- 
pany us?" 

"Oh,  I  came  away  and  left  her  by  herself.** 

"You  did  not  find  the  interview  amusing, 
then?" 

"It  was  lugubrious.  ** 

"Did  she  not  give  you  a  rendezvous  for  to- 
morrow?'* 

"Yes,  but  I  shall  not  go." 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  a  crowd  of 
masqueraders  poured  into  the  corridor,  and  a 
shrill  laugh  was  heard.  Jacques  turned  pale. 
He  looked  around  in  terror  for  the  white 
domino.     But  he  saw  only  a  group  of  young 


THE  SOUL    OF  PIERRE.  l6l 

men  hurrying  past  in  pursuit  of  some  women 
in  fancy  dress.  A  voice  murmured  in  his  ear: 
"Why  do  you  boast  and  lie?  Do  you  not 
know  that  you  will  keep  your  appointment?" 
And  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  voice  was  that 
of  Clemence  Villa.  He  turned  around.  Only 
Patrizzi  was  near  him.  "I  am  losing  my 
senses,"  he  said  to  himself.  He  took  the  arm 
of  the  prince,  and  saying  with  feverish  eager- 
ness, "Come,  let  us  go,"  he  drew  him  away. 

Next  day  when  he  awoke  in  his  chamber  at 
the  villa  of  Beaulieu  at  about  eleven  in  the 
morning,  he  had  only  a  vague  recollection  of 
what  had  taken  place  the  night  before.  He 
remembered  that  at  supper  he  had  drunk  a 
great  deal  of  champagne,  and  that  he  had 
played  a  waltz  for  the  women  to  dance  to. 

From  this  moment  everything  was  buried 
in  oblivion.  He  had  been  taken  home  in  a 
carriage  by  a  friend  who  was  returning  to  Eze. 
What  had  he  said?  What  had  he  done?  All 
was  shrouded  in  a  mystery  which  he  had  no 
desire  to  penetrate. 

Stretched  on  his  bed,  his  eyes  drinking  in 


i62,  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

the  sunlight  that  flooded  the  room,  he  felt  an 
exquisite  sense  of  well-being.  This  recumbent 
posture,  which  had  seemed  to  him  so  irksome 
when  he  was  shaken  by  his  violent  fits  of 
coughing  that  left  him  bathed  in  perspiration, 
weak  and  exhausted,  he  now  enjoyed  with  de- 
light, his  brain  clear,  his  blood  flowing  calmly 
in  his  veins,  his  respiration  regular.  He  had 
stayed  up  all  night,  he  had  supped,  he  had 
squandered  his  strength  in  one  of  those  orgies 
which  formerly  would  have  cost  him  a  week's 
illness  and  depression,  and  yet  he  found  him- 
self fresh  and  vigorous.  He  experienced  a 
sense  of  profound  satisfaction.  The  cure,  so 
confidently  predicted  by  the  doctor,  but  of 
which  he  himself  had  had  so  little  hope,  had 
indeed  been  effected. 

He  remained  thus  for  a  time,  enjoying  the 
mere  sense  of  being;  then,  springing  at  abound 
from  the  bed,  he  began  to  dress.  He  went 
about  his  room,  humming  an  air,  careless  and 
happy.  He  opened  his  window,  and  the  warm 
breeze  entered  and  played  around  his  brow. 
The   fragrance   of   the   clematis   reached    him 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  163 

from  the  garden  below,  and  on  the  terrace, 
walking  toward  him  slowly,  as  he  had  walked 
a  few  months  before,  he  perceived  his  sister. 

Her  eyes  were  cast  on  the  ground  with  an 
air  of  sadness,  and  she  seemed,  in  her  dark 
gown,  as  if  she  were  in  mourning  for  her  lost 
happiness — her  health,  her  youth,  her  gayety. 
The  ^contrast  between  what  she  had  been  and 
what  she  now  was,  was  so  striking  that 
Jacques  could  not  repress  a  sigh.  Disease 
had  abandoned  her  grasp  on  him,  but,  as  if  a 
victim  were  necessary,  she  had  seized  instead 
upon  poor  Juliette.  And  in  proportion  as  he 
became  more  erect  and  vigorous,  she  grew 
more  bowed  and  feeble.  The  malady  from 
which  she  suffered  was  one  that  medical 
science  could  not  reach.  From  the  day  on 
which  Dr.  Davidoff  had  brought  them  the  fatal 
news  of  Pierre's  death,  she  had  declined  hourly 
in  health.  A  profound  languor  had  taken  pos- 
session of  her;  she  seldom  spoke,  and  seized 
every  opportunity  to  be  alone.  She  seemed 
to  feel  a  pleasure  in  her  suffering.  She  dis- 
liked to  be  questioned  about  her  health ;  she 


1 64  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

made  an  effort,  when  with  her  mother  and 
brother,  to  shake  off  her  melancholy,  but  as 
soon  as  she  found  herself  alone,  she  relapsed 
into  her  habitual  sadness.  At  the  moment 
when  Jacques  perceived  her  she  was  walking 
with  languid  step,  a  prey  to  her  own  sad 
thoughts,  and  under  the  brilliant  sunshine, 
amid  the  vivid  green  of  the  trees  and  the  gay 
colors  of  the  flowers,  her  face  looked  like 
a  dark  blot  upon  the  landscape.  Jacques 
descended  into  the  garden,  and  observing  his 
mother  in  the  drawing-room  went  in  and  kissed 
her.  She  looked  at  him  attentively,  and 
seeing  him  so  radiant  with  health,  she  smiled. 

"You  returned  home  late,"  she  said.  "It  is 
hardly  prudent  for  you  to  sit  up  so  late,  when 
you  have  so  recently  recovered  from  your 
illness." 

"It  is  so  long  since  I  have  had  any  pleas- 
ure," he  answered. 

"You  enjoyed  yourself,  at  least?"  she  asked. 

"Very  much." 

"Do  not  abuse  your  health,  my  child.  Do 
not    be    ungrateful    to    Providence    who    h^s 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  165 

restored  it  to  you.  And  do  not  add  to  my 
anxieties.  I  am  troubled  enough  about  your 
sister's  condition." 

"Is  she  worse  to-day." 

"No.  And  then  how  should  we  know  it  if  she 
were?  She  utters  no  complaint.  She  makes 
every  effort  to  conceal  her  dejection.  But  she 
cannot  deceive  me.  Day  by  day  I  see  her 
grow  weaker.  Ah,  if  Davidoff,  who  benefited 
you  so  much,  were  only  here  now!" 

At  these  words  the  young  man  turned  pale. 

He  fancied  he  saw  the  sardonic  countenance 
of  the  Russian  doctor  rise  before  him.  What 
could  Davidoff  do?  Was  he  to  be  asked  to 
work  another  miracle?  Jacques  knew  very 
well  how  powerless  was  medical  science.  He 
knew  how  useless  it  had  proved  in  his  own 
case.  The  help  he  had  received  had  come  to 
him  from  an  unknown  source.  But  was  it  not 
at  the  price  of  a  terrible  sacrifice  that  this  help 
had  been  obtained.  Had  it  not  been  necessary, 
to  vitalize  and  purify  his  blood,  that  the  blood 
of  another  should  be  shed  for  him?  And  was 
not  this  voluntary  sacrifice  of  a  human  life  to 


1 66  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

save  that  of  another,  marked  out  for  destruc- 
tion by  the  hand  of  fate,  a  repetition  of  the 
human  sacrifices  offered  up  on  the  altars  of  the 
pagan  gods  of  antiquity.  Could  the  miracle 
be  wrought  a  second  time?  And  who  should 
make  the  sacrifice?  Pierre  had  made  it  for 
him.     Who  would  make  it  for  Juliette? 

The  sound  of  his  mother's  voice  drew  him 
from  his  meditation. 

"Besides,"  she  added,  "even  if  the  doctor 
were  here,  would  Juliette  follow  his  directions? 
When  she  is  asked  about  her  health  she 
answers  that  she  is  not  ill,  that  she  is  only  a 
little  tired ;  that  there  is  no  cause  for  anxiety. 
But  this  very  indifference  which  she  manifests 
regarding  herself  makes  me  all  the  more  uneasy, 
because  in  it  I  see  the  indication  of  a  moral 
cause  for  her  malady,  more  difficult  to  combat 
than  any  physical  one." 

"A  moral  cause!"  repeated  Jacques. 

"Yes ;  the  child  has  a  secret  grief,  and  not- 
withstanding the  courageous  efforts  she  makes 
to  conceal  it,  she  cannot  deceive  me.  Each 
morning  I  see  that  she  is  paler  than  the  last 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  1^7 


from  the  sleepless  hours  she  has  spent  during 
the  night.  And  it  has  been  so  for  the  past 
two  months.  Oh,  I  know  the  exact  date  of 
the  commencement  of  her  malady.  It  has 
remained  indelibly  fixed  upon  my  memory. 
It  is  both  a  sad  and  a  happy  one  for  me,  for  it 
marks  at  once  the  beginning  of  your  recovery 
and  the  beginning  of  the  illness  of  your  sister. 
Yes,  Juliette  received  the  blow  from  which  she 
is  now  suffering  on  the  day  when  Dr.  Davidoff 
came  to  announce  to  us  the  death  of  Pierre 
Laurier." 

If  Madame  de  Vignes  had  been  observing 
Jacques  she  would  have  been  terrified  by  the 
look  of  anguish  that  distorted  his  features. 
What  he  had  already  vaguely  suspected  his 
mother  had  put  into  words.  The  death  of 
Pierre  had  produced  at  once  a  salutary  and  a 
pernicious  effect ;  it  had  restored  him  to  life 
and  given  her  death-blow  to  Juliette. 

At  this  plain  statement  of  facts  a  sudden 
anger  was  kindled  in  his  heart  against  the 
innocent  girl,  whose  interests  were  so  directly 
opposed  to  his  own  that  what  was  advantage- 


l6g  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

ous  to  him  was  fatal  to  her,  and  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  make  the  brother  live  without 
causing  the  death  of  the  sister.  A  fantastic 
idea  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  symbolizing 
their  destinies  under  the  colors  of  the  cards, 
red  and  black — the  one  the  color  of  blood,  the 
other  the  color  of  mourning.  If  red  turned  up 
Juliette  was  to  die;  if  black,  he  must  fall  back 
into  his  previous  state  of  suffering. 

A  frenzy  of  selfishness  seized  upon  him,  and 
all  his  energies  were  concentrated  in  the  desper- 
ate desire  for  life.  He  felt  himself  capable  of 
anything  to  preserve  it — even  a  crime.  He 
carried  his  baseness  as  far  as  to  raise  his  eyes 
to  the  sick  girl,  walking  pensively  in  the 
garden,  and  to  say  to  himself  with  fiendish 
satisfaction:  "Two  months  ago  it  was  I  who 
dragged  myself  along  that  sunny  walk,  and  I 
am  now  strong  and  able  to  enjoy  life.  All  my 
regrets,  all  my  complaints,  which  then  seemed 
so  unavailing,  I  may  now  cast  to  the  winds, 
and  indulge  without  restraint  my  desires  and 
my  hopes.  All  that  I  came  so  near  losing 
I   have   regained.      Life   surges   triumphantly 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  169 

within  me,  what  matters  the  price  I  have  paid 
for  it !" 

His  conscience  was  silent.  No  voice  rose  up 
within  him  to  protest  against  this  monstrous 
deification  of  self.  His  heart  was  dumb,  his 
mind  was  closed  to  every  generous  thought. 
No  feeling  within  him  rebelled  against  this 
horrible  absolution  which  he  gave  himself  for 
all  the  evil  his  useless  existence  had  caused, 
and  was  yet  to  cause. 

Yet  in  the  midst  of  this  moral  insensibility 
a  few  words  uttered  by  his  mother  caused  him 
to  tremble. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  "that  Juliette  loved 
Pierre  Laurier  in  secret.  I  have  not  dared  to 
question  her,  fearing  to  hear  her  answer  in  the 
affirmative.  For  I  could  give  her  no  consola- 
tion, and  what  can  there  be  more  cruel  for  a 
mother  than  to  see  her  child  grieving  without 
being  able  to  hold  out  to  her  a  ray  of  hope? 
Yet  if  this  be  the  case  we  ought  to  know  it, 
for  here,  perhaps,  is  the  wound  we  must  seek 
to  heal." 

Jacques  felt  as  if  a  power  which  he  could  not 


lyo  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

resist  impelled  him  to  try  to  clear  up  this  pain- 
ful mystery.  Everything  relating  to  his  friend's 
death  had  a  terrifying  effect  upon  him,  yet  he 
felt  attracted  to  the  subject  with  invincible 
curiosity;  he  desired  and,  at  the  same  time, 
feared  to  know  the  truth.  He  wished  to  be 
silent,  yet  he  could  not  forbeaf  saying: 

"What  if  I  were  to  speak  to  her?  She  might 
confide  her  secret  to  me." 

"Question  her  very  gently,  then,  and  if  she 
seems  reluctant,  do  not  urge  her  to  answer. 
Leave  her  at  liberty  to  keep  her  secret." 

"Have  no  fear." 

Juliette  was  approaching.  Mme.  de  Vignes 
made  a  last  mute  appeal  to  Jacques's  tender- 
ness and  compassion  for  his  sister,  and  went 
into  the  house. 

The  young  girl,  raising  her  eyes,  saw  her 
brother  standing  before  her  as  if  waiting  for 
her.  Her  countenance  lighted  up,  and  a  flush 
mounted  to  her  cheeks.  She  seemed  trans- 
formed, and  the  Juliette  of  the  past,  happy,  gay, 
and  blooming,  reappeared  for  an  instant.  But 
her   brow  clouded  again,  her  features  relaxed, 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  I? I 


her  mouth  lost  its  smile,  and  she  was  once  more 
grave  and  sad,  as  usual.  Of  her  own  accord 
she  took  her  brother's  arm,  and  leaning  on  it 
with  evident  pleasure, — 

"You  are  now  entirely  well,  my  dear 
Jacques,"  she  said. 

He  nodded  affirmatively,  pressing  Juliette's 
hand  gently  at  the  same  time. 

"What  a  joy  it  is  not  to  see  you  any  longer 
sick  and  unhappy,"  she  continued ;  "for  you 
did  not  bear  your  illness  with  patience;  you 
were  not  disposed  to  be  resigned." 

She  shook  her  head  gently  as  if  to  say: 
"Women  are  more  courageous;  they  bear  suf- 
fering better."  They  had  reached  the  very 
spot  in  the  veranda  in  front  of  the  house  where 
Davidoff  had  announced  to  Jacques  the 
death  of  Pierre  Laurier.  The  window  of  the 
drawing-room,  concealed  by  the  blinds,  was  now 
as  then  half  open,  but  Juliette  was  no  longer 
on  the  watch  for  evil  tidings.  She  knew  her 
fate,  and  she  awaited  only  the  end  of  her  suf- 
ferings. But  no  one  on  earth  could  give  it  to 
her.     This  deliverance  must  come  to  her  from 


172  THE   SOUL   OP  PIERRE. 

heaven.  She  seated  herself,  tranquil  and  indif- 
ferent, in  one  of  the  willow  chairs,  and  fixed  her 
gaze  on  the  sea.  "I  must  question  her,"  said 
Jacques  to  himself.  "What  shall  I  say  to  her. 
and  how  begin  the  conversation?  Her  little 
head  is  so  clear!  She  will  weigh  each  one  of 
my  words  and  guess  from  them  the  meaning  of 
my  questions.  The  slightest  blunder  would 
put  her  on  her  guard.  And  if  she  mistrusts 
me  in  the  least  I  shall  get  nothing  from  her. 
Her  lips  will  be  sealed." 

*'Here  we  are  in  the  middle  of  March,"  he 
began  with  a  meditative  air.  "We  must  soon 
return  to  Paris.  Will  you  not  be  sorry  to  leave 
this  place,  dear?" 

"It  matters  little  to  me  where  I  am,"  she 
answered  indifferently,  as  if  she  thought  to  her- 
self, "There  is  but  one  place  where  I  can  be  at 
rest, — in  the  peaceful  and  silent  tomb." 

"I  had  fancied  our  departure  would  not  please 
you,  that  perhaps  it  might  grieve  you,  and  I 
was  going  to  ask  our  mother  to  stay  here  a  few 
weeks  longer." 

She  bent  her  head  with  a  frown,  and  seemed 


TtJE  SOUL  OF  PIERkE.  173 

determined  to  betray  nothing  of  her  thoughts. 
Her  brother  watched  her  with  attention,  in 
the  hope  of  intercepting  a  quicker  throb  than 
usual  of  this  poor  wounded  heart. 

"As  for  me,"  he  pursued,  "I  should  not 
have  been  sorry  to  remain  here  longer.  I  shall 
leave  this  place  with  regret,  for  I  am  now 
bound  to  it  by  a  most  painful  tie." 

His  voice  failed  him.  He  could  never  men- 
tion Laurier's  name  without  a  secret  shudder, 
as  if  he  felt  he  himself  were  in  some  way 
accountable  for  his  tragic  fate. 

"Here  I  lost  my  dearest  friend,"  he  resumed, 
"a  loss  for  which  I  can  never  be  consoled.  I 
fancy  that  in  leaving  this  place  I  shall  be  going 
farther  away  from  him ;  although  I  know  not 
where  his  last  resting-place  is,  since  the  waves 
have  not  given  him  back  to  us,  and  we  have 
not  been  permitted  the  supreme  consolation  of 
saying  a  last  prayer  over  his  remains.  This 
spot,  where  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time,  has 
a  fascination  for  me,  as  if  I  had  a  secret  hope 
that  I  should  here  see  him  one  day  reappear." 

At   these  words  Juliette  trembled,  and    she 


174  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

■ _ _ . *  T 

raised  her  eyes  to  her  brother's  with  a  question* 
ing  look.  She  felt  a  movement  of  joy,  quickly 
repressed,  however. 

"Do  you  think  it  possible,  then,  that  he  is 
not  dead?"  she  asked. 

"His  body  has  never  been  recovered,"  he 
answered  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"And  is  he,  alas !  the  only  one  that  the  jeal- 
ous sea  has  refused  to  give  up,"  cried  the 
young  girl,  with  a  heart-rending  look.  "No! 
we  ought  not  to  cherish  any  illusions,  or  lull 
ourselves  with  false  hopes.  He  had  lost  faith 
in  the  future,  he  had  lost  confidence  in  his 
friends,  life  had  ceased  to  possess  any  attrac- 
tion for  him.  Our  loss  is  certain,  irreparable. 
We  shall  never  see  him  again !  He  has  left  us 
forever.  We  shall  never  again  hear  his  voice, 
nor  his  laughter — nor  even  his  complaints. 
He  has  gone  to  the  land  from  which  no  one 
returns — and  we  may  weep  for  him  without 
any  fear  of  our  tears  being  causelessly  shed." 

She  spoke  with  increasing  agitation,  and  her 
grief,  no  longer  restrained,  overflowed  from 
her   heart    to  her   lips  like  a   torrent,  swollen 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  175 

by  a  sudden  rain-storm.  Surprised,  Jacques 
looked  at  his  sister,  seeking  to  discover,  in  the 
midst  of  the  bitterness  of  the  grief  which  she 
expressed,  some  trace  of  a  reproach  addressed 
to  himself. 

"Does  she  suspect  the  terrible  secret?"  he 
asked  himself.  "If  she  had  to  decide  between 
Pierre  and  me,  which  would  she  choose? 
Would  she  sacrifice  her  brother  or  her 
lover?" 

Juliette  wiped  away  the  tears  which  flowed 
down  her  cheeks,  and  remained  silent  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  said : 

"Heaven,  in  compensation,  has  delivered  us 
from  our  anxiety  in  regard  to  your  health. 
Enjoy  life,  Jacques,  employ  it  in  loving  us 
dearly." 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  to  go.  He  de- 
tained her,  and  looking  at  her  fixedly  said : 

"This,  then,  is  the  secret  of  your  illness  and 
your  dejection.     You  loved  him." 

She  answered  without  hesitation  and  with- 
out embarrassment : 

"With  all  my  soul.     Besides  my  mother  and 


176  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

you  he  was  the  only  one  who  occupied  my 
thoughts." 

"You  are  not  yet  twenty.  At  your  age 
there  is  no  sorrow  which  is  eternal.  The  fut- 
ure is  still  before  you." 

She  bowed  her  head  dejectedly ;  then  said 
with  great  sweetness : 

"Promise  me  never  to  speak  on  this  subject 
again,  will  you?  It  would  only  cause  me  use- 
less suffering.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  can 
forget  their  sorrows,  or  be  consoled  for  them. 
In  the  secret  depths  of  my  heart,  the  memory 
of  Pierre  will  be  the  object  of  my  worship. 
I  shall  think  ceaselessly  of  him,  but  to  hear 
his  name  uttered  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I 
promise  you,  on  my  part,  to  take  care  of 
myself  and  to  neglect  nothing  that  might 
contribute  to  my  health.  I  do  not  wish  to 
distress  you,  nor  cause  you  anxiety ;  but  leave 
me  at  liberty  to  indulge  my  grief." 

She  smiled  sweetly  at  her  brother,  and 
resumed  her  solitary  walk  up  and  down  the 
terrace. 

Much  affected,  Jacques   entered   the  hous^ 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  I77 

and  went  up  to  his  mother's  room.  Madame 
de  Vignes  was  anxiously  waiting  for  him. 

"Well?"  she  asked  as  soon  as  she  saw  him 
enter. 

"Well,  I  have  spoken  to  her  as  we  agreed, 
and  I  found  her,  if  not  reasonable,  at  least 
very  calm.  She  grieves  deeply  and  does  not 
wish  to  be  consoled.  I  had  thought  that  a 
prolongation  of  our  stay  here  might  be  bene- 
ficial to  her,  but  I  was  mistaken.  I  think  the 
best  course  to  take  would  be  to  return  to  Paris 
at  once,  and  make  the  child  resume  her  former 
way  of  living.  Solitude  is  not  good  for  her. 
She  has  too  much  time  in  which  to  let  her 
thoughts  dwell  on  the  one  theme.  Our  friends 
will  take  possession  of  her.  She  will  be  di- 
verted in  spite  of  herself  and  this  will  have  a 
favorable  effect  on  her  spirits,  I  hope." 

"Do  you  think  it  would  be  well  to  make 
preparations  for  our  departure  at  once, 
then?" 

"No,  that  would  seem  too  sudden.  In  a 
couple  of  weeks  we  might  go.'' 

"But    you,    my    dear   boy,    would    not    the 


178  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

change  of  climate  be  prejudicial  to  you?  We 
are  still  in  March ;  in  Paris  it  is  still  cold." 

"No  matter!  My  health  is  now  excellent, 
and  it  is  of  Juliette  alone  that  we  must  think." 

**Very  well,  I  will  do  as  you  advise  then." 

Jacques  kissed  his  mother's  hand  tenderly. 
The  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  they  went  into 
the  dining-room,  where  Juliette  soon  joined 
them.  Mme.  de  Vignes  and  her  son  spoke  on 
indifferent  subjects:  Juliette  was  silent.  The 
repast  was  a  short  one.  A  restraint  seemed  to 
weigh  upon  them  all,  and  each  wished  to  be 
alone.  As  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  they 
rose.  The  mother  and  daughter  returned  to 
their  rooms  in  silence.  Jacques  lighted  a  cigar 
and  went  to  take  a  solitary  walk  on  the  sea- 
shore. 

In  an  indentation  of  the  coast  bordered  by 
red  rocks,  the  tide  ebbed  and  flowed,  forming  a 
little  creek.  Vegetation  stopped  at  the  edge 
of  the  water,  but  on  the  sand  mosses  of  a 
grayish-green  color,  resembling  lichens,,  grew 
vigorously.  Jacques  seated  himself  here,  and 
soothed  by  the  delicious  mildness  of  the  sun- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  179 

shine  fell  into  a  revery.  Silence  and  solit*ide 
reigned  around.  Immensity  of  space  was  be^ 
fore  him,  and  above  him.  The  sea  and  the 
sky  met,  blending  imperceptibly  together  in 
the  blue  distance.  Jacques's  eyes,  fixed  upon 
the  far  horizon,  were  dazzled  by  the  clear 
brightness  of  the  atmospliere,  and  fascinated 
by  the  monotonous  motion  of  the  waves. 

Little  by  little  the  scene  before  him  faded 
from  his  view,  and  he  saw  again  the  ball-room 
as  on  the  night  of  the  veglione.  He  heard 
again  the  noise  of  the  crowd,  the  stamping  of 
the  dancers  on  the  floor,  and  the  strains  of  the 
orchestra.  He  saw  pictured  before  him  the 
whole  scene  of  the  evening  of  the  Carnival,  and 
among  the  promenaders  he  could  distinguish 
the  white  domino.  She  smiled  seductively 
under  the  lace  of  her  mask,  and  her  eyes  glit- 
tered like  diamonds  through  the  apertures  i  ■ 
the  satin.  The  subtle  and  penetrating  odor 
which  emanated  from  her  enveloped  Jacques, 
and  in  this  solitary  spot  he  had  so  lively  a 
sense  of  the  proximity  of  this  fascinating 
V^oman  that  he  stretched  out  his  arms  vaguely 


i8o  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

as  if  to  embrace  her.  The  spell  of  the  vision 
was  broken,  and  he  found  himself  once  more 
alone.  A  feeling  of  irritation  took  possession 
of  him  at  the  thought  that  he  should  be 
haunted  thus  by  the  remembrance  of  Clem- 
ence — that  she  should  have  such  power  over 
him,  that  he  could  not  abandon  himself  to  his 
thoughts  for  a  moment  without  being  at  the 
mercy  of  this  sorceress.  She  had  said  to  him, 
"Whether  you  wish  it  or  not."  It  was  in  vain 
for  him  to  try  to  resist  her.  He  felt  that  she 
had  woven  her  toils  around  him,  triumphant  and 
perfidious,  the  mistress  of  his  thoughts  and  of 
his  heart,  and  the  despotic  sovereign  of  his  will. 
He  asked  himself  why  he  resisted  her,  why  he 
had  an  instinctive  repugnance  or  rather  fear  of 
her.  He  knew  she  was  dangerous;  all  who 
had  approached  her  had  suffered  through  her. 
And  yet  how  beautiful  she  was,  with  her  red 
lips,  her  velvety  eyes,  her  divine  form  !  What 
had  he  to  fear?  The  remembrance  of  Pierre 
came  to  him.  Had  she  not  also  loved  him,  the 
great  artist?  And  with  the  same  love  of 
change  which  nriade  it  impossible  for  her  to  be 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  i8i 

constant  to  any  one,  had  she  not  soon  grown 
tired  of  him  and  cast  him  off?  For  her  he  had 
allowed  the  exquisite  flower  of  his  genius  to 
wither.  Like  a  high-mettled  horse  harnessed 
to  a  heavy  load  he  had  worked  in  order  to  earn 
money,  to  heap  gifts  upon  her,  and  when  he 
could  no  longer  work,  he  had  tried  to  win  at 
play  what  his  genius,  strained  and  enervated, 
could  no  longer  procure.  All  the  various 
stages  in  the  miserable  story  of  Laurier's  pas- 
sion were  known  to  Jacques.  He  had  seen  the 
painter  pass  through  them  one  by  one,  in  his 
lucid  moments  full  of  shame  and  exasperation 
at  his  folly,  but  ready  to  return  to  his  bond- 
age the  moment  the  woman,  at  once  hated  and 
adored,  beckoned  to  him  with  her  rosy  finger 
or  let  fall  a  word  of  tenderness.  What  was 
there,  then,  so  satanic  or  so  divine  in  this  creat- 
ure that  she  should  exercise  over  men's  hearts 
so  potent  a  spell? 

The  only  rival  who  could-  have  triumphed 
over  her  was  death.  Why  had  his  friend  in  a 
manner  bequeathed  her  to  him?  Was  it  that 
he  might  avenge  him?     And  did  he  think  him 


ita  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

capable  of  inspiring  this  enchantress  with 
love? 

He  saw  Pierre's  face  as  it  had  haunted  him 
so  often  of  late  in  his  terrible  dreams.  It  wore 
a  look  of  indescribable  sadness ;  he  fancied  he 
saw  the  lips  move  and  that  he  heard  them  say : 
"Take  care ;  I  have  bestowed  life  upon  you,  but 
she  will  destroy  it.  Destruction  is  her  mission 
on  earth.  Avoid  her,  beware  of  her!  See  to 
what  she  has  brought  me.  She  lied  to  you 
when  she  told  you  that  it  was  my  wish  that  you 
should  love  her.  No,  I  have  fled  from  her  into 
the  bosom  of  oblivion !  Do  not  believe  her,  do 
not  listen  to  her,  do  not  look  at  her.  With- 
draw from  her  path.  When  you  are  with  her 
you  cannot  resist  her.  This  is  the  decisive 
moment  in  which  you  must  choose  between 
life  and  death." 

The  sombre  countenance  of  Laurier  faded 
away,  and  Jacques  found  himself  once  more 
alone,  beside  the  restless  sea  in  this  enchanted 
solitude,  where  nature  bloomed  radiantly  under 
a  cloudless  sky.  He  said  to  himself:  "I  am 
growing  superstitious.    What  dp  the  fears  ^ncj 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  1^3 

the  scruples  that  torment  me  mean?  Can  my 
life  depend  upon  this  woman?  I  have  not  yet 
so  completely  recovered  from  my  illness  as  I 
had  thought.  But  what  is  the  cause  of  the 
anxiety  I  feel?  Through  what  moral  crisis  am 
I  passing?  Because  Pierre  loved  this  woman 
is  it  then  criminal  in  me  to  love  her?  For  this 
is  the  thought  from  which  my  scruples  spring. 
And  after  all  is  there  not  a  great  deal  of  indi- 
vidual caprice  and  of  conventionality  in  what 
people  have  agreed  to  call  right  and  wrong?" 

"The  only  object  of  life  is  happiness,"  selfish- 
ness answered.  And  was  not  the  love  of  this 
woman  necessary  to  his  happiness?  His  heart, 
filled  with  her  image,  was  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
reason.  At  this  very  moment,  seated  on  this 
sunny  rock,  the  waves  dashing  their  spray  up 
to  his  feet,  silence  and  solitude  around,  he  felt 
himself  drawn  toward  the  enchantress,  and  he 
trembled  with  impatience.  He  knew  that 
within  half  an  hour's  distance  the  Battle  of 
Flowers  at  Nice  was  drawing  all  the  world 
of  fashion  to  the  Promenade  des  Anglais. 
Clemence   would   be    there   waiting   for    him, 


1 84  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


expecting  him.  He  had  but  a  step  to  take  to 
join  her. 

His  heart  palpitated  violently.  His  whole 
being  reached  out  toward  her.  His  reason, 
though  vanquished,  still  protested:  "But  she 
has  defied  you.  She  has  told  you  she  would 
hold  you  in  her  chains,  willing  or  unwilling. 
Are  you  then  going  to  obey  her  as  if  you  were 
her  slave?  Truly  you  have  very  little  pride 
or  courage.  Stay  where  you  are,  do  not 
go.     Avoid  her." 

But  he  was  already  on  his  feet.  The  magne- 
tic influence  which  had  always  drawn  Laurier 
back  to  her,  no  matter  how  much  he  might 
resist  it,  now  exercised  its  sway  over  Jacques. 
The  spell  of  this  woman  who,  ghoul-like,  sapped 
the  power  of  will  of  those  over  whom  she 
wished  to  cast  her  spells,  triumphed  over  dis- 
tance, over  prudence,  and  over  reason.  It  was 
in  vain  for  Jacques  longer  to  resist ;  she  had 
already  conquered.  He  went  back  to  the 
house,  took  his  hat  and  coat,  and  went .  away 
without  bidding  his  sister  good-by. 


V. 

THE  passion  with  which  Clemence  had 
inspired  Jacques  was  all  the  more  violent 
for  having  been  so  long  resisted.  And  it  was 
shared  by  her,  and  with  equal  ardor.  For  a 
time  they  lived  apart  from  the  world,  devoted 
exclusively  to  each  other,  wandering  among 
the  flowering  orange-trees  of  the  garden,  or 
reclining  among  the  silken  cushions  of  the 
Moorish  salon  in  the  smiling  villa  on  the  Men- 
tone  road. 

In  the  evening  Jacques  tore  himself  away 
with  difficulty  from  the  enchantress  and 
returned  to  Beaulieu.  His  mother  and  sister 
saw  him  only  for  an  instant  in  the  morning 
before  he  went  out.  And  with  profound  sad- 
ness Mme.  de  Vignes  saw  that  the  unlooked- 
for  restoration  of  her  son  to  health  had  been 
the  signal  for  the  resumption  of  the  dissipated 
life  he  had  formerly  led,  and  which  had  so  nearly 
brought  him  to  his  grave.  She  had  ventured  a 
185 


1 86  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

remonstrance,  which  had  been  received  with  a 
smile.  Jacques,  in  a  hurry  to  go,  had  kissed 
his  mother,  assuring  her  that  he  had  never  felt 
stronger  in  his  life,  which  was  true,  and  that 
she  had  no  cause  for  uneasiness.  And  without 
staying  further  to  listen  to  her  counsels  or  her 
entreaties  he  had  taken  the  train  for  Monte 
Carlo. 

The  two  women  were  thus  left  entirely  alone 
and  the  days  passed  in  silence  and  sadness. 

Meantime  Jacques  lived  under  the  influence 
of  the  spell  that  had  sapped  the  strength,  intel- 
lectual and  moral,  of  Pierre  Laurier,  that  had 
degraded  his  character  and  changed  the  bril- 
liant artist  into  the  helpless  being  who  had 
resolved  to  seek  relief  from  his  misery  in  death. 

Clemence,  all  the  more  dangerous  from  the 
sincerity  of  her  passion,  loved  now  as  she  had 
never  loved  before.  In  the  fair  and  somewhat 
effeminate  beauty  of  this  young  man  she  found 
the  charm  she  had  needed  to  captivate  her 
stronger  nature.  She  dominated  him  com- 
pletely, and  left  him  not  a  thought  nor  a  feeling 
that  was  not  inspired  by  her. 


The  soul  of  pierre.  1S7 

In  the  midst  of  this  intoxication  the  time 
fixed  upon  for  the  departure  of  the  de  Vignes 
arrived,  and  Clemence,  unable  to  support  the 
thought  of  separating  from  Jacques,  prepared 
to  return  to  Paris.  They  left  with  regret  this 
enchanting  country  which  seemed  made  for 
love.  But  they  consoled  themselves  by  think- 
ing that  in  the  city  they  should  have  greater 
facilities  for  enjoying  each  other's  society  with- 
out restraint  than  here. 

Their  return  to  Paris  produced  a  very  differ- 
ent effect  upon  Jacques  from  that  which  it  pro- 
duced upon  Clemence.  Jacques  experienced 
an  intense  joy  in  being  once  more  in  the  city 
he  had  thought  at  one  time  during  his  illness 
that  he  should  never  see  again. 

The  bustle  and  animation  of  Paris  captivated 
him.  The  intoxication  of  Parisian  life  had 
taken  possession  of  him.  He  had  left  a 
delightful  climate,  he  was  fresh  from  scenes 
that  enchanted  the  eye,  yet  the  cloudy  sky  of 
Paris,  the  stone  pavements  of  the  streets  had  a 
charm  for  him  which  he  had  not  found  in  them, 
and  he  said  to  himself  that  there  was  nothing 


1 88  THE   SOUL   OF  PJERkE. 


in  the  world  more  beautiful.  He  installed 
himself  again  joyfully  in  his  bachelor  apart- 
ments, and  felt  delightfully  at  home  in  them. 

Clemence,  established  once  more  in  her 
magnificent  house  in  the  Avenue  Hoche, 
returned  to  the  luxury  and  the  cares  of  her 
former  existence.  In  Monte  Carlo  she  had 
lived  like  any  bourgeoise.  In  Paris  she  was 
once  more  the  celebrated  actress,  whose  estab- 
lishment cost  three  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
year  to  support.  She  no  longer  seemed  the 
same  person  to  Jacques.  A  sudden  transfor- 
mation had  taken  place  in  her.  Her  appear- 
ance, her  manner,  her  walk  had  entirely 
changed. 

She  spoke  abruptly,  her  glance  was  imper- 
ious. Everything  about  her  revealed  the 
woman  armed  for  the  battle  of  life,  always  on 
her  guard,  lest  she  should  be  taken  at  a  dis- 
advantage and  conquered.  She  showed  the 
liveliest  tenderness  for  Jacques  and  repeatedly 
assured  him  of  her  affection,  but  the  fact  of  her 
doing  so  showed  already  a  diminution  of  his 
influence,  which  gave  the  young  man   food  for 


THE  SOUL   OF  PlERkE,  1^9 


thought.  Clemence  observed  this  feeling,  and 
tried  to  dissipate  it.  She  grew  gentle  and  cares- 
sing, and  for  a  time  was  fond  and  amiable  as 
before. 

But  the  feeling  of  security  in  her  affection 
which  Jacques  had  entertained  was  at  an  end. 
In  the  little  villa  at  Monte  Carlo  he  might 
have  cherished  the  illusion  that  she  had  never 
loved  any  one  as  she  loved  him.  In  her  sump- 
tuous house  at  Paris,  everything  spoke  too 
plainly  of  her  past  for  this  to  be  the  case.  A 
feeling  of  disquietude  took  possession  of  him. 
He  became  sombre  and  irritable.  He  was  no 
longer  sure  of  her  affection  for  him,  and  his  love 
for  her  increased  in  consequence. 

They  had  said  they  would  never  separate, 
and  they  saw  less  of  each  other  than  before. 
Not  by  the  wish  of  Clemence,  but  her  existence 
was  no  longer  the  same,  and  the  exigencies  of 
her  establishment  took  up  her  time  at  the 
expense  of  her  affection.  Jacques  acquired 
the  habit  of  visiting  her  only  at  stated  times, 
and  gradually  learned  to  set  bounds  to  the 
expression  of  his  passion  for  her.      This  was 


t90  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


unfortunate.  At  Monte  Carlo  he  would  doubts 
less  soon  have  wearied  of  her.  But  the  obsta. 
cles  his  passion  encountered  in  Paris  inflamed 
it  still  further  instead  of  weakening  it. 

Clemence>  with  the  keenness  of  observation 
of  a  woman  of  the  world,  discerned  at  once  the 
state  of  his  feelings.  She  had  learned  long  ago 
that  security  soon  engenders  indifference,  and 
that  the  sharpest  spur  to  love  is  uncertainty. 
Seeing  Jacques  thus  uneasy  and  on  the  point 
of  becoming  a  jealous  lover,  she  took  a  mali- 
cious pleasure  in  holding  him  in  suspense, 
letting  him  hope  and  fear  by  turns. 

Taciturn  when  he  was  not  with  Clemence, 
Jacques  caused  his  mother  grave  anxiety  by 
the  languor  and  apathy  of  his  manner.  He 
would  spend  hours  stretched  on  the  sofa  in  his 
smoking-room,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling, 
smoking  opium  cigarettes  which  dulled  his 
brain,  without  moving,  without  uttering  a  word, 
and  seemingly  lost  in  this  species  of  haschisch 
dream.  His  health  still  remained  good, 
although  the  fresh  color  he  had  brought  with 
him    from    the    south    had    disappeared.      He 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE.  191 

grew  thin,  but  his  nervous  force  sustained  him 
in  the  life  of  pleasure  he  still  continued  to  lead. 

He  went  to  his  club  every  day  at  five,  and 
later  on  in  the  evening  when  he  was  not  with 
Clemence.  He  played  heavily,  and  in  the 
beginning  had  extraordinary  luck.  He  won 
large  sums  at  ^cart^.  He  thought  nothing  of 
winning  five  hundred  louis  before  dinner,  and 
this  money,  so  easily  obtained,  he  squandered 
with  superb  indifference.  It  gave  him  pleasure 
to  add  to  the  luxuries  that  surrounded  Clem- 
ence. He  desired  to  heap  princely  gifts  upon 
her  instead  of  the  roses  and  violets  he  had 
brought  to  her  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  from  this 
forth  his  life  became  a  hell. 

His  gains  at  6cart^  no  longer  suflficed  to  sup- 
ply his  wants ;  and  baccarat  seemed  to  offer  him 
a  wider  field.  Play,  which  had  at  first  been  a 
distraction,  then  a  means  to  obtain  money, 
now  became  a  passion.  He  loved  it  not  only 
for  the  money  with  which  it  supplied  him,  but 
also  for  its  excitement.  He  cut  the  cards  with 
a  sublime  impassivencss  that  masked  devour- 
ing anxiety.     He  would  lose  on  a  card   10,000 


192  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

francs,  without  a  change  in  his  countenance  or 
a  tremor  in  his  voice.  But  he  boiled  inwardly, 
and  the  strain  on  his  nerves  was  all  the  greater 
for  the  efforts  he  made  to  conceal  it.  When, 
after  a  couple  of  hours  of  alternate  successes 
and  reverses,  fortune  finally  took  his  side,  the 
tension  of  his  mind,  excited  by  the  desire  to 
triumph,  relaxed  and  he  fell  into  a  delicious 
state  of  beatitude.  He  experienced  an  in- 
stant of  indescribable  intoxication  during 
which  he  forgot  everything  that  was  not 
play. 

Clemence  was  not  long  in  discovering  that 
she  did  not  reign  alone  in  the  heart  of  Jacques, 
but  she  did  not  take  umbrage  at  the  presence 
there  of  this  victorious  rival,  to  whom  she  owed 
so  large  a  share  of  her  luxuries.  Besides,  a 
modification  had  taken  place  in  her  own  senti- 
ments. The  feeling  to  which  she  had  yielded 
herself  completely  in  the  solitude  of  the  coun- 
try was  not  strong  enough  to  resist  the  dis- 
tractions of  Paris.  She  resumed  her  former 
mode  of  life.  Seeing  once  more  her  friends 
and  acquaintances,  the   daily  round  of  pleas- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  19^ 

ures  in  which  she  engaged  left  her  less  time 
than  before  to  devote  to  Jacques. 

And  then  Jacques  himself,  whose  resistance 
to  her  power  at  first  had  added  to  the  intensity 
of  her  passion  for  him,  now,  yielding  to  all  her 
caprices,  began  to  weary  her.  From  the  mo- 
ment in  which  she  saw  that  he  was  her  slave 
he  ceased  to  possess  attractions  for  her.  And 
in  this  the  actress  was  no  worse  than  the  gener- 
ality of  women,  and  the  blame  for  what  must 
soon  take  place  lay  with  Jacques.  He  had 
modified,  of  his  own  accord,  the  conditions  of 
his  intimacy  with  Clemence.  He  had  ignored 
the  fundamental  axiom  of  the  philosophy  of 
love  that  the  affection  of  a  woman  is  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  sacrifices  it  exacts  from  her. 
Secure  as  she  was  in  the  possession  of  his  love, 
his  hold  upon  her  affections  had  weakened. 
But  because  she  no  longer  loved  him  was  no 
reason  that  she  should  give  him  back  his 
liberty.  It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  show  such 
generosity.  She  had  held  Laurier  in  her  toils 
a  full  year  after  she  had  ceased  to  care  for  him, 
and  it  was  during  this  time  that  the  artist,  de- 


194  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

graded,  humiliated,  and  tortured,  had  resolved 
to  put  an  end  to  an  existence  which  had  be- 
come intolerable  to  him.  Jacques  as  yet  sus- 
pected nothing.  Practised  in  the  arts  of  deceit, 
Clemence  charmed  him  as  before  by  the  grace 
of  her  smile,  the  sweetness  of  her  words,  the 
tenderness  of  her  endearments. 

He  now  scarcely  ever  went  to  visit  his 
mother.  The  atmosphere  of  the  house  was 
too  gloomy  for  him,  and  inspired  him  with  no 
wish  to  return  to  it.  His  sister,  although  the 
malady  which  was  sapping  her  life  had  devel- 
oped no  recognizable  symptoms,  drooped  more 
and  more  every  day — grew  every  day  paler  and 
more  fragile.  But  by  an  effort  of  her  will  she 
succeeded  in  appearing  cheerful,  in  order  to 
keep  up  her  mother's  spirits.  But  Mme.  de 
Vignes  was  not  deceived,  and  the  two  women, 
each  trying  to  appear  cheerful  to  the  other, 
lived  in  secret  anguish. 

The  doctors  had  decided  that  the  malady  of 
Juliette  was  anaemia.  They  found  no  organic 
trouble,  either  of  the  heart  or  the  lungs.  They 
saw,    however,    that   her   strength   visibly   de- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  195 

clined.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  Jacques  had 
drawn  from  his  sister  all  her  vitality,  and  given 
her  his  own  weakness  in  exchange.  It  was  a 
matter  of  no  slight  astonishment  to  the  physi- 
cians who  had  attended  the  brother  the  year 
before,  to  see  him  now  leading  the  dissipated 
life  he  led,  while  Juliette,  radiant  in  health  last 
spring,  had  grown  sickly  and  feeble.  And 
Jacques,  whom  these  two  women  had  sur- 
rounded with  so  much  care  and  tenderness, 
wearied  by  his  mother's  sadness,  chilled  by  the 
sorrowful  smile  of  his  sister,  made  his  visits 
rarer  and  rarer,  throwing  himself  with  desper- 
ate ardor  into  his  old  life. 

The  month  of  June  had  arrived,  and  Clem- 
ence  wished,  according  to  her  custom,  to  instal 
herself  at  Deauville.  Selim  Nufio,  for  some 
years  past,  had  placed  his  splendid  villa  every 
summer  at  the  actress's  disposal.  Jacques,  who 
viewed  with  displeasure  the  visits  of  the  old 
financier  to  Clemence,  opposed  the  project  as 
soon  as  she  mentioned  it  to  him.  To  go  to 
the  sea-shore,  good ;  to  choose  Deauville,  very 
good,  also.     But  to  accept  the  hospitality  of 


19^  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

Nufio,  what  for?  To  this  question  Clemence 
responded  without  hesitation. 

"For  ten  years  past,  my  dear  Jacques,  Selim 
has  been  my  true  and  constant  friend.  Men 
are  changeable.  You  love  me  to-day ;  to-mor- 
row you  may  forget  me.  The  friends  on 
whom  one  may  depend  under  any  circum- 
stances are  rare;  their  affection  is  not  to  be 
thrown  away.  And  then,  to  speak  frankly, 
Jacques,  you  cannot  be  jealous  of  this  old 
man?  He  is  like  a  father  to  me.  And  you 
know  very  well  besides  you  have  no  reason  to 
be  afraid  of  any  one." 

She  tried  to  coax  him  out  of  his  opposition, 
but  the  young  man's  objections  were  based  on 
a  solid  foundation.  He  shook  his  head  as  he 
listened  to  her,  without  being  convinced  by 
her  arguments. 

"I  should  not  like  to  be  a  visitor  at  M. 
Nufio's  house,"  he  said,  "for  although  he  will 
not  reside  in  the  villa,  you  will  be  none  the  less 
his  guest.  Let  us  go  back  to  Monte  Carlo,  to 
the  delightful  solitude  of  the  country,  where 
you  will  be  free  to  devote  all  your  time  to  me. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  197 

Here  you  are  so  taken  up  with  your  occupa- 
tions and  your  friends,  that  I  enjoy  scarcely  any 
of  your  society.  There  I  should  have  you  all 
to  myself,  and  no  one  could  take  you  away 
from  me." 

He  spoke  with  passion,  and  Clemence  lis- 
tened to  him  with  a  curious  sensation.  His 
voice,  formerly  so  sweet  to  her  ears,  now 
seemed  commonplace  and  failed  to  awaken  any 
emotion  within  her.  His  hands,  which  clasped 
hers,  no  longer  sent  a  thrill  through  her.  She 
saw  in  him  only  a  fair,  handsome  young  man 
whose  exactions  began  to  weary  her.  To  his 
importunities  she  responded  with  a  smile  which 
Jacques  took  as  a  presage  of  victory  and  a 
proof  of  her  affection.  She,  however,  knew 
that  the  flame  was  extinguished  and  that  noth- 
ing could  relight  it.  Scarcely  four  months 
had  passed  and  the  sentiment  with  which  he 
had  inspired  her  was  dead  forever. 

Her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  night  of  the 
veglione  when  they  had  first  met.  How  vivid 
the  emotion  she  had  experienced  then  !  And 
now  how  weary  and  indifferent  she  felt,     He 


ipS  THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 

was  still  under  the  influence  of  his  passion,  but 
as  for  her,  her  infatuation  for  him  was  at  an 
end. 

While  he  clasped  her  hands  she  was  saying 
to  herself: 

**No,  no,  it  is  over.  He  adores  me  and  I  am 
v/eary  of  him.  Am  I  never  then  to  find  a  man 
who  will  refuse  to  acknowledge  my  power,  or 
to  whom  I  could  prove  constant." 

She  rose  from  the  sofa  where  she  had  been 
sitting  beside  Jacques,  and  leaning  against  the 
chimney-piece  with  a  thoughtful  air,  said  : 

"Very  well,  then,  be  it  as  you  wish.  Any  other 
house  will  do  as  well,  provided  only  it  be  large, 
well  situated,  and  have  good  stables  for  the 
horses,  for  I  shall  take  all  my  establishment 
with  me.  But  I  must  tell  you  beforehand 
that  Nufio  shall  visit  me  there  with  as  much 
freedom  as  anywhere  else,  for  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  breaking  off  with  my  friends,  nor  of 
living  in  seclusion." 

"And  has  such  an  idea  ever  occurred  to  me?" 
protested  Jacques.  .  "Have  I  not  confidence 
in  you?" 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  199 


Clemence  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  and  a  fugitive  smile  crossed  her  lips; 
then  she  said  slowly : 

"You  are  right  to  have  confidence  in  me :  if 
you  mistrusted  me  it  would  not  make  the 
slightest  difference  !** 

The  evening  was  warm  and  fine.  They  went 
together  to  dine  at  the  "Ambassadors."  At 
eleven,  Clemence,  who  was  cross  and  com- 
plained of  not  feeling  well,  sent  Jacques  away. 
Irritated,  he  went  to  the  club,  and  as  a  game  at 
baccarat  was  going  on,  he  took  the  bank  and 
proceeded  to  deal  the  cards.  Curious  contra- 
diction :  fortunate  at  cards  so  long  as  he  had 
been  fortunate  in  love,  the  very  hour  in  which 
Clemence  discovered  that  she  no  longer  loved 
him  seemed  to  be  the  turning-point  in  his  luck 
also.  Fortune  suddenly  withdrew  her  favor, 
and  when  he  left  the  club  he  was  a  loser  to  the 
amount  of  three  thousand  louis. 

He  had  won  so  much  during  the  past  few 
months  that  he  attached  but  little  importance 
to  these  reverses,  which  he  looked  upon  as 
accidental.     He  was  only  all  the  more  eager  to 


206  THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

have  his  revenge;  but  he  lost  more  heavily 
than  before.  He  could  not  believe  that  his  ill- 
luck  was  going  to  continue,  and  he  obstinately 
persisted  in  his  efforts  to  retrieve  his  ill- 
fortune,  but  with  ever  worse  results. 

The  house  at  Trouville  was  hired,  and  as 
Clemence  was  ready  to  leave  Paris  he  deter- 
mined at  last  to  cut  short  this  continued  run 
of  ill-luck,  and  they  set  out  for  the  Norman 
coast. 

There  they  continued  the  same  life  as  at 
Paris,  only  seeing  more  of  each  other,  which 
augmented  the  coldness  of  Clemence,  forced 
as  she  was  to  make  the  effort  to  appear  agree- 
able to  a  man  who  now  wearied  her.  She 
revenged  herself  by  employing  her  ingenuity  in 
devising  ways  to  make  him  spend  money.  At 
this  time  Jacques,  his  means  of  supply  being 
cut  off,  was  obliged  to  draw  upon  the  fund  he 
had  in  reserve.  The  difficulties  of  the  situa- 
tion seemed  to  excite  him,  and  he  had  never 
loved  Clemence  as  much  as  now,  when  she  was 
beginning  to  tire  of  him. 

The  establishment    of  Clemence  was   main- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  201 

tained  on  a  large  scale  and  the  excursions  she 
was  daily  getting  up  were  the  talk  of  the  place. 

Parties,  composed  of  the  young  people  of 
Trouville,  were  constantly  to  be  seen  dashing 
alonp-  the  Honfleur  or  Villers  road.  The  house 
on  such  days  was  empty  and  there  was  not  a 
horse  to  be  had  in  the  whole  place.  The 
women  of  the  party  went  in  carriages,  and 
they  all  stopped  to  breakfast  at  one  of  the 
pretty  and  excellent  inns  on  the  road.  Amid 
clouds  of  dust  raised  by  the  horses*  feet,  and 
under  the  brilliant  sunshine,  the  cavaliers  dis- 
mounting helped  the  women  to  descend  from 
the  coaches,  in  the  midst  of  joyful  cries  and 
bursts  of  laughter,  the  villagers  standing 
motionless  in  their  doorways  in  open-mouthed 
wonder  at  the  vision  of  gay  costumes  and  little 
feet  that  flew  rapidly  past. 

At  other  times  they  would  take  the  steam 
yacht  of  Baron  Tr^sorier  and  sail  along  a  placid 
sea  to  Fecamp  or  Cherbourg.  In  the  evening 
all  the  gay  party  would  assemble  in  the  Casino 
of  Trouville,  and  dance  till  midnight.  Then 
they  would  return  home,  weary  of  the  pleasures 


2®2  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

of  the  day,  and  an  hour  later,  the  men  of  the 
party  would  meet  again  at  the  club  and  spend 
the  rest  of  the  night,  till  day  dawned,  at  cards. 
Jacques,  with  stern  but  impassive  countenance, 
played  with  persistent  ill-luck,  and  saw  the  last 
remnant  of  his  little  fortune  disappearing  by 
degrees.  He  was  not  discouraged,  however, 
and  with  incomprehensible  faith  in  his  luck 
awaited  its  return.  Fortune,  he  said  to  him- 
self, could  not  always  prove  faithless  to  him, 
and  a  few  nights'  winnings  would  retrieve  his 
losses.  A  method  of  reasoning  common  with 
all  gamblers ;  a  confidence  common  to  all  losers, 
which  is  seldom  justified  by  the  event. 

One  evening  when  he  had  been  playing  with 
his  habitual  ill-luck,  the  bank  being  put  up  for 
bids,  he  heard  a  voice  which  he  recognized 
utter  the  sacred  words  :  "The  bank  is  open 
for  play."  He  raised  his  eyes,  and,  separated 
from  him  only  by  the  length  of  the  table,  he  saw 
Patrizzi  before  him.  His  glance  encountered 
that  of  the  Prince,  who  gave  him  a  friendly 
smile.  At  the  same  moment  a  man  who  had 
been  standing  behind  the  Neapolitan  emerged 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  iO^ 


from  the  group,  and  Jacques,  with  a  horrible 
tightening  of  the  heart,  recognized  Dr.  Davi- 
doff. 

The  young  man  stood  rooted  to  the  spot. 
A  cold  perspiration  broke  out  on  his  forehead, 
and  he  heard  a  buzzing  sound  in  his  ears.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  ghastly  image  of  death 
had  risen  up  before  him.  He  was  still  motion- 
less, without  the  power  to  advance  or  retreat, 
fascinated  by  the  mocking  glance  of  the  Rus- 
sian, when  Patrizzi  coming  behiiid  him  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Ja':ques  turned 
round  with  an  effort,  and  with  a  haggard  look 
gave  his  attention  to  the  Prince,  who  was 
speaking  to  him.  He  hardly  understood  what 
the  Neapolitan  was  saying,  but  the  thought 
that  he  was  being  observed,  and  that  his  man- 
ner must  awaken  surprise,  restored  to  him  his 
strength  in  a  measure ;  he  passed  his  hand  over 
his  forehead  and  made  the  effort  to  say  to 
Patrizzi : 

"Have  you  been  here  long?" 

"About  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  the  Prince 
answered.      "Davidoff  and  I   came  in  just  as 


264  THE  SOUL  OP  PIERRE, 

your  bank  was  being  most  vigorously  attacked. 
Those  Englishmen  have  made  some  rude 
assaults  upon  you,  my  dear  friend." 

"I  am  not  very  lucky  just  now,"  stammered 
Jacques. 

"That  is  what  those  gentlemen  were  just 
saying.  But  excuse  me,  they  are  waiting  for 
me  to  deal.  I  am  going  to  try  to  avenge  you. 
Stay,  here  is  Davidoff." 

He  took  his  place  on  the  high  chair,  shuffled 
the  cards,  and  when  they  were  cut,  began  the 
game.  Davidoff  withdrew  slowly  from  the 
group  of  which  he  formed  a  part  and  advanced 
toward  Jacques.  As  he  did  so  he  examined 
the  latter  attentively.  When  he  was  close 
beside  him  he  took  his  outstretched  hand  in 
his  rather  like  a  physician  than  a  friend.  He 
felt  his  pulse,  and  shaking  his  head,  said : 

"You  are  feverish,  Jacques:  the  life  you  are 
leading  is  bad  for  you." 

These  words  of  warning,  uttered  by  the 
doctor,  broke  the  spell  which  had  held  the 
young  man.  He  no  longer  saw  in  Davidoff 
the   mysterious    personage,    possessor   of    the 


THE  SOUL   OF  PlEkRE.  265 


secret  by  means  of  which  life  had  been  restored 
to  his  exhausted  body,  but  a  man  like  other 
men.  He  recovered  his  self-possession  and 
said  gayly: 

"It  would  be  bad  for  anybody.  Yet  as  you 
see,  it  does  not  affect  me  greatly.  But  it  is 
excessively  warm  here.  Shall  we  go  out  into 
the  air?" 

He  took  his  overcoat,  and  linking  his  arm 
through  Davidoff's  they  went  out  on  the  ter- 
race. The  night  was  a  lovely  one.  The  sky 
sparkled  with  stars.  The  waves  died  away 
noiselessly  on  the  beach.  To  the  north  the 
lights  of  Havre  shone  in  the  distance.  A  pro- 
found calm  reigned  around.  The  two  men 
walked  for  a  few  moments  without  speaking, 
turning  over  in  their  minds  the  events  in  which 
they  had  taken  a  part,  and  which  bound  them 
so  strongly  together.  They  had  a  thousand 
questions  to  ask  each  other.  But  the  fear  of 
saying  too  much  made  them  hesitate  about 
asking  them.     Jacques  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"You  have  just  arrived  in  Trouville?"  he 
asked  the  doctor  with  affected  indifference. 


2o6  THE  SOUL  OP  PIERRE. 


**The  yacht  of  Count  Woreseff,  v/hose  guest 
I  am,"  answered  the  doctor,  "arrived  in  port  at 
about  five  this  afternoon.  We  dined  at  the 
'Roches  Noires.'  As  the  Count  was  tired,  he 
remained  on  board,  and  Patrizzi  and  I  came 
here  to  the  Casino,  where  I  knew  we  should 
find  you." 

**Ah,  you  have  been  hearing  about  me, 
then?" 

"That  you  have  been  here  for  the  last  three 
weeks  with  Clemence  Villa,  that  you  play 
heavily,  but  with  persistent  ill-luck,  and  that 
your  health  is  good — this  is  what  I  have  been 
hearing  about  you." 

Jacques  frowned.  "And  you  have  heard 
the  truth,"  he  said. 

"Is  this,  then,  the  use  you  make  of  your 
recovered  health?"  asked  the  doctor  gently. 
"Oh,  you  know  I  do  not  wish  to  pose  as  a 
moralist  or  a  preacher!  You  know  that  if  I 
speak  thus  it  is  because  I  take  a  friendly 
interest  in  you.  Clemence  Villa!  This  is  the 
woman  in  whose  train  1  find  you.  And  it  is 
for  her  you  play   so    desperately.     Come,  my 


THE  SOUL   eP  PIERRE,  207 

dear  friend,  are  you  sure  you  are  in  your 
senses?" 

"I  am  sure  I  am  madly  in  love  with  her!** 
returned  Jacques  in  a  stifled  voice.  "But  I  am 
not  sure  that  it  is  in  my  power  to  avoid 
being  so.** 

He  fixed  a  troubled  glance  upon  the  doctor. 

"I  must  not  give  myself  time  for  reflection," 
he  resumed,  "for  if  I  did  I  should  easily  ar- 
rive at  the  conviction  that  my  existence  was 
fraught  with  danger  to  others  and  to  myself. 
No,  no,  I  must  not  reflect.  And  the  life  you 
reproach  me  with  leading  is  the  only  one  that 
I  can  endure.'* 

"But  you  are  not  strong  enough  to  stand  it,** 
said  Davidoff ;  "it  will  kill  you.*' 

Jacques  laughed  nervously. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  said.  "Does  it  de- 
pend upon  me  to  give  it  up?  Am  I  not  pushed 
on  by  a  sort  of  fatality?" 

"Take  care,"  said  the  doctor  with  severity. 
"This  way  of  reasoning,  which  would  relieve 
you  from  a  personal'  responsibility  in  your 
actions,  might  serve  as  an  excuse  for  a  great 


2o8  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


many  errors.  You  feared  you  were  going  to 
die  and  you  are  still  alive — this  is  what  is  cer- 
tain. Do  not  attribute  this  to  any  super- 
natural cause.  You  are  cured  of  the  malady 
from  which  you  suffered.  Are  you  the  first  to 
be  cured  of  an  apparently  fatal  disease?  It 
was  I  who  attended  you ;  give  me  the  credit  of 
your  cure,  and  do  not  put  any  faith  in  Pytha- 
gorean fancies  that  would  make  a  child  laugh." 

"Did  you  laugh  at  them  that  night  at 
Monte  Carlo  when  you  told  us  that  story?" 

"Eh!  did  I  say  I  believed  in  what  I  was  tell- 
ing you?  After  an  excellent  dinner  spiritual- 
ism was  brought  on  the  tapis,  and  the  transmi- 
gration of  souls  discussed  in  all  its  bearings.  I 
took  my  part  in  the  discussion,  but  if  you  wish 
to  know  my  real  opinion  in  the  matter,  I  am  a 
materialist.  Consequently  I  cannot  admit  that 
a  body  is  animated  by  an  element  of  which  I 
do  not  acknowledge  the  existence." 

"How  then  was  I  saved  from  death?"  asked 
Jacques  with  a  trembling  voice. 

"You  were  saved  because  the  disease  you 
were  suffering  from  took  a  favorable  turn  and 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  209 

the  abscess  in  your  lung  was  healed,  thanks  to 
the  treatment  you  followed,  aided  by  the  salu- 
tary influence  of  the  climate.  What  do  you 
see  miraculous  in  that?  Every  year  cures 
equally  wonderful  occur,  without  their  sub- 
jects suffering  on  that  account  any  mysterious 
disturbance  of  mind." 

They  had  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  water, 
which  gleamed  in  the  moon*s  rays  like  silver. 
Jacques  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then,  as  if  he 
wished  to  cast  off  a  weight  that  was  pressing 
the  life  out  of  him,  he  said : 

"And  Pierre  Laurier?" 

"Pierre  Laurier  had  lost  his  senses,**  re- 
sponded Davidoff  in  a  grave  voice,  "and  you 
know  what  made  him  lose  them.  Jacques,  I 
wish  I  could  restore  you  to  yourself,  and  show 
you  how  fatal  is  the  life  you  are  leading,  and 
what  is  the  true  character  of  the  woman  for 
whom  you  sacrifice  everything.'* 

"Be  silent!"  cried  Jacques  with  violence. 
"I  cannot  permit  you  to  speak  of  her  in  this 
way  before  me.*' 

"On  the  night  of  Laurier's  disappearance,** 


2IO  THE   SOUL   OF  PIRRR^:, 


continued  the  Russian  physician,  **he  it  was, 
not  I,  who  launched  out  in  abuse  of  Clemence. 
He  cursed  her.  Yet  he  returned  to  her. — 
Come,  Jacques,  be  reasonable  for  an  instant, 
and  see  things  as  they  are.  What  I  said  to 
Pierre  on  that  fatal  night,  standing  on  the  sea- 
shore, as  we  are  standing  now,  under  a  starry 
sky  and  on  a  night  like  this,  I  repeat  to  you. 
He  answered  me  that  it  was  no  use,  that  he 
had  not  the  strength  to  follow  my  advice.  He 
left  me,  and  I  never  saw  him  again.  But  at 
least  he  was  alone  in  the  world.  You  have  a 
mother,  a  sister, — think  of  them.  Do  you  wish 
to  make  them  wretched?" 

"I  make  them  wretched  already,  Davidoff," 
answered  Jacques  with  anguish.  "I  cause 
them  many  anxieties,  many  cares,  many  tor- 
ments. They  are  very  unhappy,  and  through 
my  fault.  Oh,  I  know  how  culpable  I  am,  and 
I  am  all  the  more  so  because  they  are  so  gentle 
and  resigned.  You  have  not  seen  my  sister 
since  your  return.  It  will  frighten  you  to  see 
how  feeble  and  dejected  she  is.  None  of  the 
doctors  have  been  able  to  discover  the  cause  of 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE. 


her  malady.  But  my  mother  and  I  know  what 
it  is.  You,  too,  may  have  guessed  it.  The 
wound  from  which  she  is  suffering,  and  which 
will  finally  kill  her,  is  in  the  heart.  She  loved 
Pierre  Laurier,  and  she  cannot  be  consoled  for 
his  death.  She  confessed  it  to  me  before  we 
returned  to  Paris.  And  I,  wretch  that  I  am, 
received  the  avowal  of  her  hopeless  passion 
with  distrust,  almost  with  hatred.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  she  reproached  me  with  the  death 
of  him  she  mourned,  and  I  turned  away  with 
irritation  from  the  poor  child,  instead  of  con- 
soling her  and  mingling  my  tears  with  hers.  I 
felt  the  life  of  Laurier  flow  in  my  veins ;  he 
had  bequeathed  it  to  me ;  it  belonged  to  me. 
I  had  passed  so  recently  through  the  anguish 
of  sickness,  I  was  so  impressed  with  the  horror 
of  death,  that  I  think  I  would  have  committed 
murder  in  defense  of  the  life  so  miraculously 
saved.  And  I  threw  myself  like  a  madman 
into  a  life  of  pleasure  to  silence  my  reason,  to 
make  my  conscience  dumb.  But  I  am  a  cow- 
ard,— yes,  a  coward.  And  the  life  I  lead  is 
the  proof  of  it !     Davidoff,  if  I  had  but  the 


212  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

power  to  recall  Laurier  to  life !  It  would  be 
the  salvation  of  poor  Juliette — who  knows, 
perhaps  mine  also.  Yes,  if  I  saw  Laurier 
alive,  I  should  recover  confidence  in  my  own 
strength,  and  I  should  cease  to  believe  in  the 
supernatural  aid  which,  whatever  you  may 
think,  has  sustained  me  up  to  the  present.  I 
should  then  have  the  proof  that  I  could  live  as 
others  live.  Or  if  not,  the  slender  flame  of  life 
would  be  extinguished,  and  then  I  should 
enjoy  rest,  tranquillity,  oblivion.  Ah,  it  would 
be  delightful !  For  I  am  weary  of  it  all; — yes, 
weary !" 

Jacques  heaved  a  sigh,  and  his  head  sank 
upon  his  breast.  A  shudder  ran  through  him, 
and  his  forehead  was  bathed  in  perspiration. 
The  Russian  observed  him  with  compassionate 
attention. 

"You  are  ill,  Jacques,"  he  said.  "The  sea- 
breeze  is  chilly;  you  must  not  stay  here." 

"What  does  it  matter?"  answered  the  young 
man  with  indifference.  "Neither  the  cold  nor 
the  heat  can  affect  me.  I  feel  a  great  relief'at 
having  told  you  what  you  have  just  heard.     I 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  213 

am  a  poor  creature,  and  for  a  long  time  past  I 
have  been  the  victim  of  evil  influences,  which  I 
do  not  know  how  to  overcome.'* 

"Very  well,  then,  if  you  are  aware  of  your 
fault  do  not  persist  in  it.  You  told'  me  a 
moment  since  that  your  mother  is  unhappy 
and  your  sister  ill  on  your  account.  Let 
us  leave  this  place  to-morrow,  and  return  to 
Paris.  Let  us  go  to  them.  You  will  console 
your  mother  and  I  will  take  care  of  your 
sister.  Your  presence  will  do  them  both 
good — not  to  speak  of  the  benefit  you  yourself 
will  derive  from  your  visit.  After  your  act  of 
confession,  make  an  act  of  reparation!  Are 
you  a  man,  and  do  you  wish  to  behave  like  a 
man?" 

Jacques  seemed  disturbed  by  the  plainness 
of  the  doctor's  proposition.  His  features  were 
contracted.  The  sole  thought  of  leaving  Clem- 
ence  agitated  him,  afraid  as  he  was  of  the 
way  in  which  she  should  spend  her  time  during 
his  absence. 

"Is  it  then  necessary  that  we  should  go  to- 
morrow?" he  said.     "Can    we   not    defer  our 


214  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

departure  for  a  few  days?  I  want  time  to  get 
ready." 

"No!"  replied  Davidoff,  brusquely.  "If  we 
put  it  off  you  will  not  go.  To-morrow,  or  I 
will  never  again  speak  to  you,  or  recognize  you 
as  a  friend." 

As  the  young  man  still  hesitated, — 

"Why  do  you  hesitate?"  he  asked.  "Are 
you  not  a  free  agent,  or  must  you  ask  permis- 
sion to  go  away?  Has  it  come  to  that?  That 
would  be  worse  than  I  had  supposed." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  cried  Jacques,  "and  I 
will  give  you  the  proof  of  it.  Till  to-morrow, 
then." 

"Without  fail?  Without  any  putting  off  or 
making  excuses?" 

"Count  upon  me." 

"Very  well.  Let  us  retire,  then,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  the  morning." 

They  passed  through  the  Casino  out  into  the 
air.  Before  the  railing  a  carriage  was  in  atten- 
dance. They  awakened  the  coachman,  who 
was  fast  asleep  upon  his  seat,  and  entered  the 
vehicle  after  Jacques  had  given  orders  to  stop 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  21^ 

at  the  entrance  to  the  town.  They  rolled 
slowly  through  the  sleeping  streets.  They 
were  both  silent,  meditating  on  the  engage- 
ment they  had  just  made.  The  stopping  of 
the  carriage  drew  them  from  their  reflections. 
They  were  now  on  the  quay  before  the  harbor. 
A  hundred  yards  away,  fastened  by  a  cable  to 
the  land,  the  beautiful  white  yacht  lay  at 
anchor.  The  doctor  alighted  frorh  the  car- 
riage, and  once  more  pressing  Jacques's  hand 
in  his,  as  if  to  give  him  strength,  said : 

"Courage !  Good-night.  I  will  call  for  you 
in  the  morning — it  is  on  my  way." 

"No,  no,"  said  Jacques  quickly.  "Spare 
yourself  the  trouble;  we  will  meet  at  the 
station." 

"Be  it  so — an  hour,  then,  before  the  train 
starts  we  will  dine  together  at  the  buffet." 

They  separated,  and  the  carriage  drove  off  in 
the  direction  of  Deauville.  The  doctor,  cross- 
ing to  the  yacht,  sprang  on  board. 

Toward  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  Davidoff 
was  wakened  from  his  sleep  by  a  hand  laid 
upon    his    shoulder.      He    opened    his    eyes: 


2i6  THE   SOUL   OF  PIEkRB, 

Count  Woreseff  stood  before  him.  Through 
the  porthole  of  the  cabin  could  be  seen  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun,  reflected 
from  the  undulating  surface  of  the  water, 
played  capriciously  on  the  maplewood  parti- 
tion. 

**You  have  slept  soundly  this  morning,"  said 
the  Russian  nobleman  with  a  smile.  "This 
is  the  second  time  I  have  tried  to  waken 
you." 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  Count?  Is 
any  one  ill  on  board?"  cried  the  doctor. 

"Happily,  no.  I  only  wanted  to  know  what 
your  plans  for  the  day  were,  before  giving  my 
orders.  I  have  a  fancy  to  go  to  Cherbourg. 
Would  you  like  to  go?" 

"Excuse  me,  my  dear  Count,"  answered  the 
doctor,  "but  I  am  going  to  Paris  for  a  few  days, 
if  you  have  no  objection  to  interpose." 

"None  whatever.  Please  yourself.  But  you 
see  how  right  I  was  in  speaking  to  you.  What 
would  you  have  said  if  we  were  out  at  sea 
when  you  awoke?" 

"You  do  not  know  how  serious  the  conse- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  217 

quences  might  have  been  if  such  a  thing  had 
happened,"  answered  Davidoff. 

**Well,  get  up.  When  I  have  set  you  on 
shore  I  shall  put  out  to  sea,  and  on  your  return 
here  you  will  find  me  in  the  same  place.  But 
what  takes  you  to  Paris,  where  it  is  so  warm, 
when  it  is  so  delightfully  cool  here?" 

"A  love-affair,"  responded  the  doctor  seri- 
ously. **A  poor  young  man  whom  I  am  trying 
to  separate  from  a  coquette,  who — " 

"Say  at  once  a  woman,"  interrupted  the 
Count;  **that  will  be  shorter  and  express  the 
same  thing.  My  dear  fellow,  trust  a  man 
who  has  been  made  frightfully  unhappy  by 
them,  there  is  only  one  system  to  adopt 
with  women, — that  which  the  Orientals  have 
adopted — slavery  pure  and  simple.  Tell  your 
friend  this  from  me." 

"To  tell  it  to  him  is  easy  enough :  the  diffi- 
culty is  to  make  him  believe  it.  He  has 
indeed  arrived  at  your  system  of  slavery,  only 
it  is  he  who  is  the  slave !" 

"Poor  devil! — Good  luck  to  you,  then, 
Davidof!." 


2l8  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

The  Count  lighted  a  cigarette,  pressed  his 
friend's  hand,  and  left  the  cabin.  An  hour 
later  the  yacht  was  steaming  out  to  sea. 

On  reaching  the  railway  station  the  doctor 
found  it  vacant.  The  train  was  not  to  leave 
for  some  time  yet.  He  went  into  the  waiting- 
room  ;  there  was  no  one  there.  In  the  dining- 
room  the  woman  at  the  desk  was  yawning  over 
yesterday's  paper.  A  commercial  traveler,  his 
box  of  samples  on  the  floor  beside  him,  was 
taking  an  appetizer.  Davidoff  went  out  and 
walked  slowly  in  the  sunshine,  looking  around 
to  see  if  Jacques  were  coming.  At  the  end  of 
twenty  minutes  he  grew  impatient,  and  walked 
in  the  direction  of  Clemence's  house  at  Deau- 
ville.     As  he  went  on  he  thought  to  himself: 

"What  does  this  delay  mean?  Has  he  given 
up  the  thought  of  accompanying  me?  What 
new  idea  has  taken  possession  of  him?  Yet  he 
appeared  to  be  in  earnest  yesterday.  But  he 
has  seen  that  accursed  woman  again,  and  all  his 
good  resolutions  have  vanished.  Who  knows? 
perhaps  he  has  told  her  of  our  interview,  mak- 
ing a  merit   of   his   treachery.     In    the   state 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  219 

of  impatience  in  which  he  is,  anything  is 
possible." 

The  doctor,  thus  soliloquizing,  had  now 
reached  the  house.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
windows.  They  were  wide  open.  In  the 
courtyard  a  groom  was  washing  a  victoria, 
rapidly  turning  round  the  wheels,  whose  wet 
spokes  sparkled  in  the  sunlight. 

"I  must  know,  in  any  case,  what  to  count 
upon,"  he  said. 

And  he  deliberately  mounted  the  steps  lead- 
ing to  the  terrace,  and  entered  the  hall. 

A  servant  came  toward  him. 

**M.  Jacques  de  Vignes?"  the  doctor  asked. 

"M.  de  Vignes  is  not  here,"  answered  the 
servant. 

"Is  he  expected  to  return?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Is  Mme.  Villa  at  home?" 

"Madame  is  in  the  conservatory." 

"Give  her  this  card  and  ask  her  if  she  will 
receive  me." 

The  servant  withdrew.  The  doctor  took  a 
few  steps   in  the  hall,  letting  his  gaze  dwell 


526  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

absently  on  the  furniture  of  sculptured  oak, 
the  jardinieres  filled  with  flowers,  the  faience 
plaques  fastened  to  the  walls,  and  the  large 
Chinese  porcelain  jar  filled  with  parasols  of 
various  colors  and  with  canes  of  different  kinds 
of  woods.  "Clemence  may  give  me  a  useful 
hint,"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  "I  am  going 
to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den.  Bah !  I  am  not 
afraid  of  her.  She  devours  only  those  who  are 
willing  to  be  her  prey." 

A  portiere  was  drawn  aside  and  the  servant 
reappeared. 

"If  Monsieur  will  follow  me — "  he  said. 

They  crossed  a  drawing-room  and  a  boudoir, 
and  stopped  before  a  glass  door  that  led  into 
the  conservatory.  The  servant  stepped  aside 
to  allow  Davidoff  to  pass.  Along  a  little  path, 
bordered  with  lycopods,  which  wound  among 
palm  trees,  dates,  and  acacias,  Clemence, 
dressed  in  a  rose-colored  foulard  silk,  fastened 
around  the  waist  by  a  girdle  of  chased 
silver  set  with  garnets,  a  little  watering-pot 
in  her  hand,  advanced  smilingly  to  meet 
him. 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  42 1 

■  \ 

"Good-day,  doctor,"  she  said.     "What  happy 

chance  brings  you  here?" 

With  a  graceful  gesture  she  showed  him  her 
hand,  blackened  with  earth,  and  continued 
gayly: 

"I  am  the  physician  of  the  flowers.  I  was 
just  holding  a  consultation  respecting  these 
plants." 

"Are  they  doing  well?" 

"Not  so  badly,  thanks.'* 

She  showed  him  her  watering-pot.  "I  have 
just  been  giving  them  some  tisane,"  she 
added.  "But  to  what  am  I  indebted  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  visit?" 

"May  I  not  have  come  simply  to  see  you?" 

She  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"You  are  very  amiable.  I  am  obliged  for 
your  politeness,  but  I  know  you.  You  are  not 
a  lady's  man.  If  you  come  to  see  me  it  is  be- 
cause you  have  some  serious  reason  for  it." 

"Well,  then,  I  have  a  reason.  I  had  an 
appointment  with  Jacques  this  morning,  which 
he  failed  to  keep.  I  feared  he  might  be 
ill—" 


222  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"Ah !"  interrupted  Clemence,  with  a  thought- 
ful air. 

She  went  toward  a  little  bridge  on  which 
were  an  iron  table  and  some  chairs,  and  seating 
herself,  said: 

"111!     He  is  so  indeed!*' 

And  tapping  her  forehead  with  her  finger, 
"111  here,  especially,"  she  added. 

As  Davidoff  remained  silent,  curious  to  learn 
the  secret  of  this  friendship  which  he  deemed 
perilous  to  Jacques,  she  resumed : 

"He  made  a  terrible  scene,  this  morning, 
without  any  reason  whatever.  A  scrap  of  a 
letter,  which  he  saw  lying  on  my  table,  was  the 
cause  of  it  all.  As  if  I  could  not  have  con- 
cealed it  if  I  had  wished.  But  he  was  in  a  jeal- 
ous mood.  He  scolded,  he  threatened,  he 
wept.  Yes,  he  wept.  What  stupidity!  A 
man  who  weeps  does  not  move  me  at  all.  He 
only  makes  me  think  him  ridiculous." 

"You  do  not  love  him,  then?" 

"I  do  not  love  him  as  I  did  six  months  ago. 
Such  an  affection  is  delightful,  but  of  course 
it  cannot  last." 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  22$ 


"Oh,  I  know  you  are  a  practical  woman.** 

"You  say  that  as  a  sarcasm.  I  accept  it  as 
a  compliment.  Yes,  I  am  a  practical  woman, 
and  I  am  proud  of  it.  Jacques  has  behaved 
very  well  toward  me,  but  he  gambles,  and  for 
some  time  past  he  has  been  losing.  This  sours 
his  temper.  He  torments  me,  and  he  torments 
himself.  Why  should  I  bear  this,  I  ask  you? 
If  I  were  tired  of  him,  could  I  not  show  him 
the  door?  If  he  is  tired  of  me,  can  he  not 
remain  away?  But  in  that  case  let  us  do  so 
decently  and  without  making  a  scene.'* 

"Would  it  not  be  well  to  tell  him  so?** 

"If  you  wish." 

"But  where  can  I  see  him?" 

"Here.** 

"He  had  not  left  the  house,  then,  as  the 
servant  told  me?** 

"Not  at  all.     Go  and  give  him  a  lecture.** 

"I  came  here  for  that  purpose." 

"Then  you  are  doubly  welcome.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  take  you  to  him?" 

"It  would  be  very  amiable  on  your  part  to 
do  so." 


224  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 


She  rose  with  a  laugh,  and  said : 

"Ah,  there  is  no  one  like  me  for  amiability  !** 

"That  is  what  they  tell  me." 

"They  are  very  indiscreet." 

"And  why  so?     That  is  the  way  good  repu 
tations  are  established." 

They  crossed  the  drawing-room. 

"You  are  with  Woreseff  on  his  yacht?**  she 
asked. 

"Yes.** 

"Does  he  still  play  the  r61e  of  Sultan,  the 
dear  Count? 

"Still." 

"There  is  a  man  who  knows  how  to  live." 

"Perfectly." 

They  had  reached  the  first  landing.  She 
stopped,  and  pointing  to  a  door, — 

"Jacques  is  in  there,"  she  said. 

The  actress,  standing  here  in  her  rose- 
colored  gown,  with  her  fresh  complexion  and 
her  brilliant  eyes,  the  light  falling  on  her  from 
a  window  that  overlooked  the  sea,  was  so  beau- 
tiful that  DavidofT  paused  an  instant  to  look  at 
her.     He  could  understand  the  irresistible  spell 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  22^ 

wielded  by  this  fascinating  and  feline  creature. 
He  could  understand  the  pleasure  a  man  might 
feel  in  allowing  himself  to  be  torn  by  these 
polished,  sharp,  and  delicate  claws.  In  her  he 
saw  the  sphynx  who  devours  those  who  are 
bold  enough  to  attempt  to  solve  the  eternal 
riddle  she  propounded.  His  eyes  expressed 
his  thoughts  so  clearly  that  Clemence  said  with 
a  smile : 

"What  would  you  have?  One  must  protect 
one's-self.** 

And  she  ran  lightly  downstairs.  Davidoff 
knocked,  and  a  voice  responded,  "Come  in." 

He  turned  the  knob  and  opened  the  door, 
and  beside  the  open  window,  buried  in  the 
depths  of  a  large  sofa,  he  saw  Jacques,  his  eyes 
hollow,  his  lips  livid.  As  he  recognized  the 
doctor  the  young  man  grew  a  shade  paler  and 
his  brow  clouded.  He  rose,  and  going  toward 
his  visitor  slowly  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"You  are  angry  with  me,"  he  said. 

"A  little." 

"Only  a  little?  I  do  not  deserve  so  much 
indulgence.     I  told  you  last  night  that  I  was  a 


^26  THE   SOUL  0F  PtERRE. 

coward.  Well,  you  have  received  the  proof 
of  it  soon  enough." 

He  spoke  through  his  clinched  teeth,  with  a 
slight  contraction  of  the  features.  Davidoff, 
whom  he  inspired  with  pity,  sat  down  beside 
him  and  said  affectionately  : 

"What  has  happened  since  we  parted  to  pre- 
vent you  keeping  your  engagement  with  me? 
It  ought  to  have  been  a  pleasant  one  to  keep." 

"Can  anything  be  pleasant  to  me?"  res- 
ponded Jacques,  in  a  low  voice.  "All  that  I 
do  is  hateful  and  miserable.  An  evil  spirit 
has  taken  possession  of  me,  and  inspires  me 
with  the  most  fatal  thoughts." 

"Resist  it,"  returned  the  doctor.  "You 
allowed  yourself  to  yield  to  my  influence  a 
few  hours  ago;  do  so  again.  Take  your  hat 
and  overcoat  and  follow  me.  There  is  still 
time." 

"No,"  answered  Jacques,  with  determina- 
tion.    "I  shall  not  leave  this." 

"What  Clemence  has  told  me,  then,  is  true?" 

"Ah,  you  have  seen  her?  And  she  com- 
plained of  me,  did  she  not?     The  wretch!     It 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  227 

is  she  who  is  the  cause  of  all  my  misery.  Yes, 
she  is  destroying  me,  she  is  killing  me.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  conceive  what  she 
makes  me  suffer.  I  know  not  what  madness 
she  has  inspired  me  with.  Can  you  under- 
stand that  I  should  be  jealous  of  her?  This 
morning  we  had  a  frightful  scene.  She  for- 
bade me  the  house,  and  I  am  here  still !  I  am 
here  still!  And  why?  Because  I  cannot  live 
without  her.  Because  I  would  sue  for  her 
smiles  on  my  knees  if  it  were  necessary !" 

"Make  the  effort  to  keep  away  from  her  for 
a  few  days." 

"No,  no,  that  would  be  impossible.  What  a 
void  in  my  existence  if  she  should  pass  out  of 
it.  No !  I  have  sacrificed  everything  for  this 
woman.  I  have  made  everything  yield  to  my 
love  for  her.  To  ^vw^  her  up  now  would  be  to 
end  everything." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  was 
silent  for  a  few  moments ;  then  in  an  accent  of 
desperation : 

"When  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  resources,"  he 
said,  "then  I  will  see  her  no  more.    Ah,  that 


2  28  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.     ' 

day  is  not  far  off,  for  luck  is  against  me.  But  I 
keep  on  playing  although  I  know  perfectly  well 
what  the  end  must  be.  You  see  it  is  not  easy 
to  preach  to  me,  for  I  am  beforehand  with  you. 
Abandon  me  to  my  fate,  my  friend.  I  am 
not  worth  the  efforts  you  would  make  to 
save  me." 

Davidoff  had  listened  to  Jacques's  words  with 
a  pang  at  his  heart,  studying  with  mingled 
curiosity  and  compassion  this  pitiable  form  of 
insanity.  He  was  familiar  with  the  feeling 
which  had  led  so  many  men  to  madness  or 
suicide.  He  knew  it  was  made  up  of  the 
intoxication  of  the  senses,  the  exasperation  of 
wounded  vanity,  and  a  sort  of  mysterious  terror 
which  takes  possession  of  those  who,  habituated 
to  the  tumult  of  a  feverish  existence,  see  them- 
selves condemned  suddenly  to  a  life  of  isola- 
tion and  silence.  The  transition  was  like  pass- 
ing from  the  gayety  of  a  ball-room  to  the  still- 
ness of  a  Trappist  monastery  Only  a  strong 
soul  and  a  steady  head  could  bear  it  with 
calmness. 

"Conie  with  me,"  ^^id  the  doctor  to  Jacqueg. 


THE   SOUL    OF  PIERRE.  229 


"I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  not  quit  you 
until  you  are  cured,  mentally  and  physically." 

Jacques  burst  into  a  fit  of  nervous  laughter 
that  sounded  harsh  and  painful  in  the  doctor's 
ears. 

"No,  no,  abandon  me  to  my  fate,"  he  cried. 
"I  do  not  want  to  be  cured !  I  am  already 
sentenced,  and  nothing  can  change  the  decrees 
of  fate.  I  have  lived  only  for  happiness. 
Anguish  and  misery  are  my  doom!" 

He  lowered  his  voice  as  if  with  sudden 
terror. 

**You  know  well  it  is  not  I  who  act,  who 
speak,  who  suffer,  and  who  complain.  There 
is  another  within  me  who  is  leading  me  on  to 
my  fate.  Even  if  I  wished  to  stop  myself  I 
could  not  do  so.  Ah,  I  feel  this  implacable 
soul  agitating  itself  furiously.  It  is  jealous  I 
It  takes  vengeance  of  me  on  myself.  So  long 
as  it  inhabits  my  body  I  must  suffer.  On  the 
day  on  which  I  shall  be  delivered  from  it — " 

DavidofT  interrupted  Jacques  with  a  quick 
gesture;  he  knitted  his  brow  and  was  on  the 
point  of  saying:     "Yoq  ar^  ma4!     Laqrier  hH3 


2$0  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

disappeared,  it  is  true,  but  Laurier  is  still  alive. 
I  humored  your  fancy  because  I  had  a  convic- 
tion that  only  faith  would  give  you  back  the 
strength  to  live.  But  since  you  have  reached 
such  a  state  of  hallucination  as  to  make  your 
recovered  health  the  cause  of  your  ruin,  it  is 
my  duty  to  declare  the  truth  to  you." 

One  thought,  however,  made  him  pause. 
"He  will  not  believe  me!"  he  said  to  himself. 
**I  must  show  him  his  friend  restored  to 
mental  health  in  order  to  prove  to  him  that  he 
himself  may  recover  his  sanity."  He  turned 
toward  the  young  man  and  said  very  gently : 

"Since  you  do  not  wish  to  accompany  me  to 
Paris  I  will  go  alone,  then.  I  shall  see  your 
mother  and  sister  there." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Jacques*s  face,  and  his 
eyes  shone  as  if  moist  with  tears. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice;  "try 
to  make  them  forgive  me  the  evil  I  have 
done  them.  They  are  so  good,  so  affection- 
ate!" 

He  rose,  and  a  quick  shudder  passed  through 
his  frame. 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  231 

"Oh,  I  am  a  wretch !"  he  cried.  "It  would 
be  better  for  me  to  be  dead !" 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  a  clear  voice 
calling  "Jacques!"  in  the  garden  below,  was 
heard. 

He  advanced  hastily  to  the  window.  Clem- 
ence  was  gathering  roses.  She  saw  him,  and 
cried  gayly : 

"Well,  is  your  sulking  over?  The  air  is 
delightful.  Come  down,  and  we  will  go  to 
Villers  to  breakfast." 

Jacques  turned  to  Davidoff,  and  cried  in 
agitation : 

"She  calls  me,  you  see.  She  is  waiting  for 
me.  She  is  not  so  bad  as  I  said.  She  has 
terrible  moments,  it  is  true,  but  at  heart  she 
loves  me.     Come,  my  friend." 

He  drew  Davidoff  toward  the  stairs.  They 
went  down  into  the  hall.  There  Jacques 
pressed  the  doctor's  hand  tightly,  and  as  if 
impatient  to  be  alone  with  Clemence  said : 

"Adieu.  Once  more,  pardon  me.  Reassure 
my  mother  and  cure  my  sister — Ah,  that  above 
all!     Poor  child!     Adieu." 


^3*  THE  SOUL   OF  PlERkE. 

And  with  rapid  steps  he  hurried  toward 
the  garden  where  his  pitiless  tyrant  awaited 
him.  Davidoff,  already  in  the  street,  strode 
quickly  away. 

Through  an  opening  to  the  shore  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  yacht,  which  was  steaming  out  to 
sea,  leaving  in  its  wake  a  trail  of  black  smoke. 

"I  am  free,"  he  cried ;  "let  me  profit  by  it." 

He  went  to  the  telegraph  office,  took  a  sheet 
of  paper,  and  standing  at  the  desk  wrote  these 
words : 

"Pierre  Laurier,  Care  of  Monsieur  le  Curi 
de  Torrevecchio,  Corsica  : 
^'Return  at  once.  Your  presence  has  be- 
come indispensable.  When  you  arrive  here 
wait  for  nothing,  but  join  me  immediately  at 
the  Grand  Hotel.  Davidoff." 

He  gave  the  telegram  to  the  clerk,  paid  ioi 
it,  and  went  out  murmuring: 

*Tf  I  do  not  succeed  in  saving  the  brother,  I 
shall  at  least  try  to  save  the  sister."  And  he 
took  the  train  for  Paris. 


VI. 

DAVIDOFF'S  telegram  was  delivered  to 
Pierre  Laurier  on  the  very  day  of  Agos- 
tino's  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  a  well-to- 
do  farmer  of  San  Pellegrino.  The  young  sailor 
had  prospered  in  his  trading  expeditions  to  the 
Mediterranean  ports,  and  he  brought  a  fortune 
of  six  thousand  francs  to  his  bride.  The  lat- 
ter, a  rosy  brunette  of  sixteen  from  the  moun- 
tains, had  a  house  and  some  olive  groves  of  her 
own.  The  young  people  had  loved  each  other 
for  a  year  past,  and  on  the  understanding  that 
Agostino  was  to  give  up  his  seafaring  life  the 
marriage  had  now  been  celebrated. 

On  emerging  from  the  church  of  San  Pelle- 
grino the  newly-married  pair  were  greeted  by 
a  succession  of  shots  fired  in  their  honor.  One 
might  have  thought  from  the  noise  that  the 
villagers  were  engaged  in  a  vendetta  and  were 
trying  to  exterminate  each  other;  vivas  broke 
forth  from  the  guests.  Every  face  beamed 
233 


234  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

with  joy,  and  the  bright  sunshine,  the  heat  and 
the  smell  of  the  powder  seemed  to  produce  a 
general  feeling  of  intoxication. 

Pierre,  giving  his  arm  to  the  little  Marietta, 
whose  companion  he  had  been  in  the  church, 
followed  with  delighted  eyes  every  detail  of 
the  animated  and  novel  scene,  dreaming 
already  of  the  beautiful  picture  he  would  paint 
of  it,  and  which  has  since  become  so  famous 
under  the  title  of  "A  Corsican  Marriage." 

His  heart  was  at  peace,  and  his  mind  had  re- 
covered its  balance.  Not  a  shadow  darkened 
his  soul.  He  was  completely  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  happiness  of  these  people 
whom  he  loved,  and  in  the  simplicity  and  tran- 
quillity of  whose  patriarchal  life  he  had  been  able 
to  forget  his  unworthy  passion  and  to  regain 
the  dignity  of  his  manhood.  The  wedding 
guests  now  proceeded  to  the  house  of  the 
bride's  father,  there  to  partake  of  the  banquet 
set  forth  in  honor  of  the  newly-married  pair. 
As  they  assembled  in  tlie  grounds,  a  little  boy, 
who  served  the  good  cur6  of  Torrevecchio  as 
an  acolyte,  pushed  through  the  crowd  and  run- 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE,  235 

ning  up  to  the  venerable  priest,  handed  him 
a  blue  envelope  which  had  just  been  left  at 
the  vicarage.  To  cover  the  distance  between 
Torrevecchio  and  San  Pellegrino,  the  little  fel- 
low, with  his  mountaineer's  legs,  had  taken 
only  an  hour.  He  arrived  breathless,  his  face 
covered  with  dust  and  perspiration. 

The  cur^  read  the  address  on  the  envelope 
and  then  handed  it  to  Pierre,  saying  affection- 
ately : 

"Here,  my  dear  child,  this  is  for  you." 

A  group  had  already  formed  around  the 
young  man,  who,  with  clouded  brow  and  lips 
tightly  drawn,  held  within  his  fingers  the  des- 
patch he  had  received,  without  power  to  open  it. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Agostino  anxiously. 

"That  blue  paper,"  said  the  boy,  "which  was 
brought  a  little  while  ago  from  Bastia  by  the 
postman.  He  made  a  special  trip  with  it  as  it 
seemed  to  be  urgent,  so  Maddalena,  the  ser- 
vant of  M.  le  Cur^,  said  to  me,  *Run  Hke  a 
flash ;  do  not  stop  until  you  have  given  it  to 
Monsieur.  Something  serious  must  have  hap- 
pened, for  in  three  years  or  more  there  has  not 


2^6  THE  SOtJL  OP  PIERRE. 

come  to  Torrevecchio  a  paper  like  that !'  So 
I  set  out  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  here 
I  am." 

As  he  spoke,  he  wiped  off  with  the  back  of 
his  hand  the  perspiration  which  was  running 
down  his  face,  showing  his  white  teeth  in  a 
broad  smile  of  delight  at  having  performed  his 
mission  so  successfully. 

"You  are  going  to  drink  a  glass  of  ToUano 
and  to  eat  a  morsel  of  bread  with  us,  Jacopo," 
said  Agostino.  He  pushed  the  child  toward 
his  father-in-law,  and  then,  greatly  troubled  by 
the  uneasiness  which  Pierre's  face  betrayed,  he 
said  to  him  anxiously : 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

Pierre  opened  the  envelope  slowly,  unfolded 
the  telegram,  and  read  the  imperious  summons 
addressed  to  him  by  his  friend.  He  turned 
pale  and  his  brow  clouded.  His  heart  sud- 
denly seemed  to  contract. 

"Is  there   any  bad   news?"  asked   Agostino. 

"No,"  returned  the  painter,  "at  least  I  hope 
not.  But  I  must  leave  you.  I  must  go  at 
once  to  Paris." 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  237 

"Leave  us !  And  now !"  cried  the  bride- 
groom sorrowfully.  "Wait  at  least  until  to- 
morrow." 

"If  they  had  told  you  when  the  sea  was  be- 
tween you  that  your  sweetheart  was  ill  and 
might  die  during  your  absence,"  gravely  an- 
swered Pierre,  "would  you  have  delayed  going 
to   her?" 

Agostino  pressed  his  preserver's  hand  with 
emotion  and  tears  filled  his  eyes. 

"No,  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "But  you 
must  know  how  much  your  departure  will 
grieve  us." 

Pierre  drew  the  young  man  aside,  and  there 
speaking  to  him  with  a  sudden  emotion,  which 
threw  a  new  light  on  his  friend's  character  and 
past  life  for  Agostino,  said : 

"There  is  no  need  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
feast.  From  here  to  Torrevecchio  by  the  high- 
road is  a  matter  of  twelve  miles.  I  can  hire  a 
carriole  at  the  inn,  and  go  there  alone.  Once 
I  am  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  you 
will  explain  my  absence  to  your  guests,  and 
thank  each  one  of  those  present  for  the  cordial 


^3^  THE   SOUL  OF  PIERRE. 

reception  they  gave  me  when  I  came  here.  1 
shall  never  forget  the  time  I  have  spent  among 
you.  I  was  grievously  ill,  both  in  heart  and 
mind.  In  the  peaceful  and  laborious  existence 
I  have  led  here  I  have  forgotten  the  sorrows 
that  I  thought  were  incurable,  and  it  is  to  you 
I  owe  all  this — to  your  mother  who  has  been 
so  good  to  me,  to  your  little  sister  who  has  so 
often  brought*  to  my  mind  by  her  naive  and 
winning  grace  the  young  girl  who  is  waiting  for 
me  now ;  and  finally  to  you,  my  brave  fellow, 
to  save  whose  life  I  gave  up  my  intention  of 
putting  an  end  to  my  own  when,  driven  to  de- 
spair, I  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so.  You 
have  restored  me  to  myself.  It  is  for  your 
sake  that  I  feel  myself  still  bound  to  humanity. 
No!  I  shall  never  forget  you,  and  whether 
in  sadness  or  in  joy,  my  thoughts  will  often 
recur  to  you." 

Agostino  could  sarcely  restrain  his  tears  at 
these  words,  and,  more  affected  by  Pierre's  de- 
parture than  he  would  have  been  by  that  of 
some  member  of  his  own  family,  he  began  to 
sob,  while   the   wedding  guests,  giving   them- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  239 


selves  up  to  merriment,  were  laughing,  singing, 
and  shouting  in  the  garden.  Pierre,  after  he 
had  in  some  measure  succeeded  in  calming  the 
young  man's  grief,  said  quietly: 

"And  now,  listen  to  me.  It  is  necessary  that 
1  should  reach  Paris  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment.  When  does  the  next  boat  leave 
Bastia,  and  where  does  it  stop?" 

"There  is  a  steamer  of  the  Morelli  line  leav- 
ing for  Marseilles  on  Tuesday,"  answered 
Agostino.  "By  going  to  town  to-night  you 
can  engage  your  passage  on  her,  and  to-mor- 
row at  daybreak  you  will  be  out  at  sea.  From 
Bastia  to  Marseilles  there  are  thirty  hours." 

"In  three  days,  then,"  said  Pierre,  "I  shall 
be  in  Paris.  From  there,  my  dear  Agostino, 
you  must  allow  me  to  send  some  tokens  of 
remembrance  to  your  dear  ones.  You  need 
have  no  scruples  in  the  matter.  I  have  lived 
here  with  you,  wearing  the  garb  of  a  peasant, 
almost  a  year,  but  I  am  not  poor.  Put  away 
your  Corsican  pride;  from  your  brother  your 
mother,  your  sister,  or  your  wife  may  accept 
anything.     Do  not  forget  me,  and  be  assured 


240  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

that  you  shall  one  day  see  me  again.  When  I 
return  to  your  island,  perhaps,  if  Heaven  so  far 
favors  me,  it  will  not  be  alone.  Embrace  me, 
and  adieu  until  then !" 

The  two  men  embraced  each  other  as  on  the 
night  on  which  they  were  tossed  about  by  the 
engulfing  waves  under  the  pale  light  of  the 
moon ;  and  when  they  separated  it  was  with 
mingled  smiles  and  tears. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Pierre  was  driving  rap- 
idly toward  Torrevecchio,  and  on  the  same  even- 
ing, after  packing  up  his  pictures  and  sketches, 
arrived  at  Bastia.  He  alighted  at  the  inn 
where  he  had  passed  his  first  night  on  Corsican 
soil,  went  to  engage  his  passage  on  board  the 
steamer,  and  then  entered  a  clothier's,  where  he 
replaced  his  velveteen  garments  by  a  complete 
suit  of  blue  cloth  which  became  him  very  well. 

When  he  found  himself  dressed  again,  after 
the  unrestraint  of  so  many  months,  in  close- 
fitting  waistcoat  and  coat,  he  gave  a  sigh.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  ceased  to  be  the  free 
and  active  Pierre  Laurier  who  had  worked  so 
joyfully  ten  hours  a  day  in  the  open  air,  inhal- 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  24 1 

ing  the  invigorating  odors  of  juniper  and  fir- 
tree,  and  that  he  became  once  more  the  Pierre 
Laurier  of  the  past,  who,  cursing  his  art  and 
despairing  of  the  future,  spent  his  hours  be- 
tween the  boudoir  of  a  coquette  and  the  gam- 
bHng  saloon  of  the  club. 

He  raised  his  eyes.  Night  was  falling,  but 
behind  the  chestnut  groves,  bathing  in  its 
pallid  light  the  frowning  rocks,  the  moon 
shone,  like  a  silver  crescent  in  the  sky.  The 
forest  breeze,  warm  and  fragrant,  passed  over 
the  young  man's  brow,  soft  as  the  caressing 
touch  of  a  wing.  He  looked  at  the  sea,  which 
rolled,  profound  and  calm,  at  his  feet,  and  mur- 
mured:  "You  may  bear  me  away.  I  fear 
neither  you  nor  those  from  whom  you  separate 
me."  His  transitory  discontent  passed  away, 
and  at  this  moment,  when  he  was  about  to 
take  the  supreme  step  that  was  to  decide  his 
fate,  he  found  himself  master  of  his  thoughts 
and  of  his  feelings. 

No  emotion  stirred  his  heart  at  the  thought 
of  the  woman  he  had  so  passionately  loved. 
He  dared  to   evoke  her  imae^e.     He  saw  her 


24^  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

with  her  low  brow  crowned  with  its  raven 
tresses;  her  beautiful  eyes  with  their  long 
lashes,  her  intoxicating  glance, — but  he  re- 
mained indifferent  and  disdainful.  He  loved 
her  no  longer,  all  was  over;  the  charm  had 
ceased ;  the  philter  was  powerless.  He  had  re- 
covered possession  of  himself,  and  his  heart, 
freed  from  its  bondage,  was  once  more  worthy 
of  a  good  woman's  acceptance.  And  tears  of 
emotion  came  to  Laurier's  eyes.  His  trem- 
bling lips  murmured  a  confession  of  love,  and 
his  whole  being  reached  through  space  toward 
the  adored  object. 

On  the  following  day  at  nine  o'clock  the 
boat  sailed.  Pierre  again  saw  the  dock  beside 
which  the  Saint  Laurent  lay  at  anchor,  while  he 
was  painting  its  figurehead  of  carved  wood, 
the  mole,  the  bastion  of  the  Dragon,  and,  in 
succession.  Cape  Corso,  Giraglia,  and  the  Itc.l- 
ian  coast.  On  board  the  boat,  which  sailed  rap- 
idly, he  retraced  the  route  taken  by  the  little 
smuggling  vessel. 

As  they  drew  nearer  the  French  coast  he 
asked  himself   with  growing  uneasiness  what 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  243 

could  be  the  cause  of  Davidoff' s  hasty  sum- 
mons. A  vague  disquietude  took  possession 
of  him,  and  he  began  to  fear  that  some  misfor- 
tune had  happened.  To  whom?  The  words 
of  the  letter  written  to  him  at  Torrevecchio  by 
the  doctor,  recurred  to  him :  'The  report  that 
you  had  been  drowned,  came  very  near  caus- 
ing the  death  of  one  closely  connected  with 
Jacques."  These  words  had  changed  every- 
thing in  his  life.  Was  this  person  Juliette,  and 
was  she  now  in  danger?  Should  he  arrive  only 
in  time  to  see  her,  in  whom  his  only  hope  now 
lay,  expire?  But  the  letter  contained  these 
words  also:  "You  passed  close  to  happiness 
without  knowing  it,  but  there  is  still  time 
for  you  to  regain  it."  Was  this  happiness 
going  to  escape  him  anew?  Was  it  not  proba- 
ble that  this  young  girl,  who  was  so  beautiful, 
was  loved,  and  that  another,  during  his  ab- 
sence, had  succeeded  in  curing  the  wound  her 
heart  had  received? 

A  profound  sadness  took  possession  of 
Pierre,  at  the  thought  that  this  last  throw 
upon  which  he  had  staked  his  happiness  should 


244  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

lose.  A  feeling  of  mental  lassitude  overpow- 
ered him,  and  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  mortal 
blow  for  him,  should  this  prove  to  be  the  case. 
He  was  consumed  by  impatience  to  learn  the 
truth.  On  board  the  vessel,  as  its  keel  cleaved 
the  blue  waters,  he  longed  for  some  means  of 
corresponding  with  Davidoff.  He  stretched 
out  his  hands  toward  the  shore,  as  if  the  reas- 
suring news  he  desired  were  there  awaiting 
him.  He  envied  the  albatross  its  swift  wings 
as  it  sailed  in  its  melancholy  flight  through  the 
blue  air.  He  walked  the  deck  nervously,  as  if 
his  impatience  could  lend  added  speed  to  the 
motion  of  the  vessel. 

He  could  not  sleep,  and  he  remained  on 
deck,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  horizon.  They 
passed  in  succession  Genoa,  Monaco,  Nice, 
Antibes,  and  Toulon;  sailing  along  this  en- 
chanting coast,  bordered  down  to  the  water's 
edge  with  gardens  on  whose  sands  of  gold  the 
waves  die  languorously  away.  His  heart  beat 
quickly  as  he  saw  the  Chateau  d'lf  looming 
darkly  in  the  distance,  its  lights  gleaming 
through     the     night    like    eyes    looking    into 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  245 

immensity.  He  had  but  little  baggage,  and 
on  arriving  at  Marseilles  he  gave  it  to  a  street 
porter,  and  crossing  the  gangway  hastily,  took 
a  carriage  and  drove  to  the  railway  station. 
He  paused  not  an  instant ;  his  only  thought 
was  to  reach  his  destination  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. The  express  was  to  leave  at  half-past 
eleven,  and  he  had  still  an  hour  at  his  disposal. 
He  went  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  the 
following  despatch  to  Davidoff:  "Arrived  in 
Marseilles :  will  be  in  Paris  to-morrow  evening 
at  six." 

When  he  saw  the  message  pass  from  the 
hands  of  the  clerk  to  those  of  the  operator  he 
felt  a  sense  of  relief,  as  if  some  part  of  himself 
had  already  gone  on  in  advance.  He  went  to 
the  restaurant,  where  he  breakfasted,  though 
without  an  appetite,  to  kill  time.  The'  gates 
being  at  last  opened  and  the  train  ready  to 
start,  he  installed  himself  in  a  compartment 
and  gave  himself  up  with  a  new  sense  of  de- 
light to  the  pleasure  of  being  rapidly  borne 
through  space.  Buried  in  a  corner  of  the  car- 
riage, his   eyes   closed   although   he   was   not 


Jt4^  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

asleep,  he  remained  motionless,  counting  as 
they  passed  them  the  stations  which  still  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  end  of  his  journey,  as  a 
prisoner  counts  on  the  calendar  the  days  which 
still  separate  him  from  liberty. 

Toward  dawn,  however,  he  grew  exhausted 
and  fell  into  a  doze.  For  two  days  and  nights 
he  had  not  slept.  When  he  awoke  he  saw 
with  delight  that  he  had  gained  upon  time  dur- 
ing his  sleep,  for  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  the 
train  was  approaching  Macon.  Before  him, 
bathed  in  sunshine,  stretched  on  either  hand 
the  rich  and  smiling  fields  of  Burgundy. 
Pierre  felt  as  if  he  had  almost  reached  his  jour- 
ney's end.  He  found  himself  again  in  the 
midst  of  scenery  which,  for  a  year,  he  had  not 
seen.  No  longer  olives,  firs,  and  cactus,  grow- 
ing among  the  sparse  and  yellow  vegetation, 
met  his  gaze;  no  longer  reddish  rocks  and 
foaming  torrents ;  no  longer  shepherds  armed 
with  guns  watching  from  some  eminence  with 
a  proud  and  serious  air  their  scanty  flock  or 
their  unruly  goats  at  pasture.  Instead  he  saw 
peasants,  at  once  stout  and  active,  guiding  the 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  247 

plow,  drawn  by  large  white  oxen,  yoked  in 
pairs,  along  the  brown  furrows;  fields  covered 
with  crops,  vines  bending  under  their  load  of 
grapes,  forests  of  a  vivid  green  traversed  by 
grassy  paths  leading  into  cool,  green  glades. 
It  was  the  severe  beauty  of  the  central  prov- 
inces of  France,  not  the  soft  and  radiant 
beauty  of  Provence  or  the  wild  grandeur  of 
Corsica. 

Space  fled  before  them:  the  train  passed 
swiftly  by  hillsides,  valleys,  and  rivers,  and 
Pierre  gave  himself  up  more  and  more  to  his 
own  thoughts.  He  fell  into  an  uneasy  reverie, 
in  which  he  asked  himself  with  a  vain  persist- 
ence what  it  was  that  had  caused  Davidoff  to 
recall  him  so  suddenly;  and  a  feverish  agita- 
tion seized  him  as  they  approached  Paris.  He 
consulted  his  watch  more  than  twenty  times 
between  the  great  city  and  Melun.  Passing 
the  fortifications  he  stood  up  preparing  already 
to  leave  the  train.  At  last  the  engine,  whist- 
ling shrilly,  slowed  up,  the  turnplates  sounded, 
and  the  train  stopped  at  the  station. 

Pierre,  standing  on   the   platform  ready  to 


248  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

leave  the  train,  leaped  to  the  ground  and  was 
caught  in  the  embrace  of  two  strong  arms. 
He  r'xised  his  eyes,  recognized  Davidoff, 
utters  d  a  cry  of  joy,  and,  pressing  in  his  turn 
the  'land  of  his  faithful  friend,  drew  him 
aside. 

"Well?"  he  cried,  putting  all  his  eagerness 
into  this  one  question. 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  the  Russian,  who 
understood  Laurier's  anxiety.  "Juliette  is  in 
no  present  danger." 

Pierre  breathed  a  profound  sigh  as  if  his 
heart  had  been  relieved  from  a  heavy  weight. 

"And  Jacques?"  he  asked. 

"Ah!  Jacques!"  responded  Davidoff.  "It 
is  he,  more  than  any  one  else,  who  gives  me 
cause  for  uneasiness.  But  let  us  not  remain 
here.     We  are  attracting  notice." 

He  put  his  arm  through  the  painter's  and 
drew  him  away  through  the  crowd  now  hurry- 
ing out  of  the  station. 

"What  luggage  have  you?"  he  asked. 

"This  valise  and  a  box  which  is  in  the 
wagon." 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  249 

"Come,  we  will  have  the  trunk  taken  to  the 
hotel.  For  you  must  accompany  me.  I  shall 
not  leave  you.  Instead  of  waiting  for  you  as  I 
had  said  I  would  in  my  dispatch,  I  preferred 
coming  to  meet  you.  I  feared  some  indiscre- 
tion on  your  part.  Do  you  know  that  if  Mile, 
de  Vignes  were  to  see  you  appear  suddenly 
before  her  the  shock  might  prove  fatal  to  her 
in  her  present  condition?" 

They  drove  along  the  boulevard  conversing 
together,  and  Laurier  was  too  confused  to  take 
in  fully  all  there  was  to  see  and  hear.  The 
bustle  of  Paris,  after  leaving  the  train  in  which 
for  twenty  hours  he  had  been  shaken,  succeed- 
ing the  profound  calm  and  retirement  of  his 
life  at  Torrevecchio,  fevered  his  brain,  dazzled 
his  eyes,  and  deafened  his  ears.  He  was 
obliged  to  make  an  effort  in  order  to  listen  to 
and  understand  Davidoff.  He  felt  weary  in 
body  and  over-excited  in  mind. 

"My  journey  has  tired  me  greatly,"  he  said, 
"and  yet  I  feel  that  I  cannot  rest — '* 

"You  have  been  living  for  the  past  three 
days  on  your  nerves,"  returned  the  doctor.     "I 


250  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


am  going  to  set  you  right  again.  Trust  to 
me.  If  I  never  had  patients  more  difficult  to 
cure  than  you — " 

The  carriage  rolled  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
Grand  Hotel.  They  alighted,  and  followed 
by  a  boy  carrying  Laurier's  vaHse  ascended  to 
Davidoff's  apartment.  Laurier's  chamber  was 
separated  from  the  Russian's  by  a  parlor.  Left 
alone  they  examined  each  other  silently  for 
an  instant :  then  the  doctor,  pointing  out  a  seat 
to  his  friend,  said : 

"Sit  down ;  we  will  dine  here  and  talk  at  the 
same  time,  and  if  you  are  reasonable  I  may  do 
something  for  you  this  very  evening." 

Pierre's  eyes  lighted  up.  "What?"  he  asked. 
"Will  you  permit  me  to  see  her?" 

Davidoff  laughed. 

"You  are  at  least  frank,"  he  said.  "To  see 
her!  It  seems,  then,  she  is  the  only  subject 
you  and  I  have  to  talk  about !  Well,  you  are 
right,  and  it  was  of  her  I  was  going  to  speak. 
Since  the  beginning  of  the  week  I  have  been 
here,  and  I  have  gradually  accustomed  her  to 
the    thought  of  your   reappearance.     In    the 


THE   SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  25' 

depths  of  her  heart  she  has  mourned  you  as 
dead  for  many  months  past.  From  the  first 
words  spoken  by  me,  casting  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  on  your  death,  she  has  revived,  but  in  a 
manner  to  terrify  her  mother  and  myself.  A 
violent  fever  has  taken  possession  of  her.  Her 
weakness  was  so  great !  She  has  been  fading 
slowly  ever  since  your  disappearance,  growing 
paler  and  paler  every  day,  like  a  flower  can- 
kered at  the  heart.  As  to  her  brother— but  it 
is  better  to  speak  only  of  her." 

"Is  the  news  you  have  to  give  me  of  Jacques, 
then,  so  painful?" 

"Heart-breaking,  morally  and  physically. 
This  week,  spurred  on  by  an  imperious  need 
for  money,  he  put  for  sale  the  property  belong- 
ing jointly  to  his  mother,  his  sister,  and  him- 
self. The  remonstrances  of  the  notary  and  the 
entreaties  of  Mme.  de  Vignes  were  alike  use- 
less. He  desires  to  realize  the  money,  no 
matter  at  what  cost,  without  troubling  himself 
about  the  loss  that  must  result  from  this  hasty 
sale.  He  is  insane,  and  his  insanity  has  taken 
a  dangerous  form." 


252  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


"And  who  or  what  has  been  the  cause  of 
this  insanity?"  asked  Pierre. 

"Love.  A  woman  has  been  the  ruin  of  this 
unhappy  man,  whose  moral  nature  was  never 
strong." 

"And  is  this  woman  so  fascinating  that  he 
cannot  be  turned  away  from  her;  has  she  so 
powerful  an  influence  over  him  that  he  cannot 
be  torn  from  her?" 

"She  is  the  most  fascinating,  the  most 
dangerous  of  women.  If  I  were  to  name  her 
to  you — " 

At  these  words  Pierre  turned  pale ;  he  looked 
eagerly  at  Davidoff,  the  name  upon  his  lips 
which  he  divined  the  doctor  was  about  to  pro- 
nounce, when  the  latter,  smiling  bitterly  and 
looking  at  the  painter  as  if  he  would  pierce  the 
inmost  recesses  of  his  soul,  said  : 

"Ah,  you  have  understood  me.  Yes,  it  is 
into  the  hands  of  Clemence  that  Jacques  has 
fallen.  She  loved  him  ardently,  he  loved  her 
in  return — well,  as  men  love  her.  At  the  end 
of  six  months  she  has  grown  cold  as  marble, 
he  is  more  passionately  in  love  than  ever.     But 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  253 

why  should  I  seek  to  describe  the  condition 
of  his  mind  to  you?  To  understand  it  you 
have  only  to  recall  your  own  feelings." 

Laurier  remained  silent  and  motionless,  his 
head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  and  the  Russian 
resumed  with  force : 

"He  adores  her,  do  you  understand,  Pierre? 
He  lives  only  for  her." 

The  painter  raised  his  head  and  exclaimed 
in  compassionate  accents: 

"Unhappy  man!  For  such  a  woman,  to 
have  given  up  everything,  to  have  forgotten 
every  duty !  But  he  is  to  be  pitied  rather  than 
blamed ;  she  has  such  dangerous  power." 

At  these  words  Davidoff's  countenance 
cleared  up ;  his  eyes  sparkled  with  joy :  he 
went  to  his  friend,  and  with  affected  irony  said : 

''So,  then,  there  is  no  feeling  in  your  heart 
for  Jacques  but  one  of  pity." 

"And  what  other  feeling  should  I  have  for 
him?"  answered  Pierre.  "Ought  I  to  blame 
him  after  showing  myself  weaker  and  more 
culpable  than  he?  No,  I  can  only  pity 
him!" 


254  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


Davidoff  took  Pierre's  hand  in  his  and  shook 
it  vigorously. 

"And  you  feel  no  thrill  of  emotion  at  the 
recollection  of  the  old  love,  no  return  of  your 
former  tenderness,  no  feeling  of  anger  against 
your  friend?"  he  said. 

"So  this  is  what  you  feared?"  said  Laurier, 
a  flush  mounting  to  his  pale  face.  "You 
doubted  that  I  was  completely  cured  of  my 
insensate  passion,  and  you  wished  to  put  me 
to  the  proof?  Oh,  do  not  be  afraid:  speak 
plainly.     You  doubted  me?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Davidoff,  with  firmness.  "I 
desired  to  know  whether  unconsciously — " 

"Ah !"  cried  Pierre,  "question  me  then,  look 
into  the  secret  recesses  of  my  heart.  You  will 
find  there  no  other  feeling  than  one  of  bitter 
regret  for  my  folly  and  the  ardent  desire  to 
atone  for  it.  If  I  had  not  judged  myself 
worthy  of  a  pure  affection  and  capable  of 
responding  to  it  by  a  constant  love,  you  would 
never  have  seen  me  again.  Fear  nothing  on 
my  account,  Davidoff.  The  Pierre  Laurier  you 
know  is  dead — killed  on  a  tempestuous  night. 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  255 


and  the  man  you  see  before  you,  though  he 
has  the  same  features,  fortunately  has  not  the 
same  heart !" 

'That  s  right,"  cried  Davidoff  gayly.  "Ah, 
a  heavy  weight  has  been  removed  from  my 
conscience.  If  I  had  not  been  able  to  count 
upon  you  with  certainty  I  do  not  know  how  I 
could  have  carried  through  my  undertaking. 
It  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  difficulties  and 
anxieties.  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to 
meet  Clemence — " 

"If  it  is  absolutely  necessary,"  returned 
Pierre,  "I  will  make  the  effort,  but  I  shall  do 
it  with  great  reluctance." 

"No  doubt  it  will  be  with  greater  reluctance 
than  in  former  days,"  answered  the  Russian 
with  a  smile.  "But  we  must  try  and  save 
Jacques  from  her  clutches,  and  nothing  less 
than  your  intervention  will  enable  us  to  suc- 
ceed. Let  us  leave  that  for  the  future,  how- 
ever, and  occupy  ourselves  with  the  present. 
Let  us  speak  of  Mile,  de  Vignes." 

Pierre's  brow  cleared.  At  this  moment  din- 
ner was  served,  and  the    two    friends   seated 


2 $6  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


themselves  at  table  and  spent  the  next  hour  in 
exchanging  confidences. 

Pierre  gave  an  account  of  his  sojourn  at 
Torrevecchio  to  the  doctor,  and  the  latter 
recounted  to  the  painter  all  that  had  taken 
place  during  his  absence.  In  this  way  they 
were  able  to  arrive  at  the  conviction,  Davidoff 
that  Laurier  was,  as  he  affirmed,  radically  cured 
of  his  fatal  passion,  and  Laurier  that  Davidoff, 
in  recalling  him  as  hastily  as  he  had  done, 
had  acted  with  as  much  wisdom  as  decision. 
Toward  nine  o'clock  they  left  the  hotel  and  set 
out  for  the  house  of  Mme.  de  Vignes.  In  the 
boulevard,  in  the  mild  air  of  the  summer  night, 
Pierre  felt  his  heart  swell  with  joy  and  hope. 
He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  with  a  feeling  of 
repentance  at  having  so  insanely  despaired  of 
happiness. 

During  the  past  few  days  Mme.  de  Vignes, 
forewarned  by  Davidoff,  had  seen  the  future, 
which  had  appeared  to  her  so  dark,  lighted  up 
by  a  faint  ray  of  hope.  The  certainty  that 
Pierre  Laurier  lived,  the  positiveness  with 
which  Davidoff  affirmed  that  the  painter  loved 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  2^7 


Juliette,  and  loved  only  her,  had  given  the 
mother  some  little  consolation.  In  the  midst 
of  the  misfortunes  which  overwhelmed  her, 
v/ith  everything  to  fear  from  her  son,  and 
everything  to  fear  for  her  daughter,  the  possi- 
bility of  seeing  Juliette  once  more  restored  to 
health  and  tranquillity  was  a  source  of  sweet 
satisfaction  to  her.  What  were  pecuniary 
cares  compared  to  the  anxieties  caused  by  her 
daughter's  increasing  weakness  and  dejection? 
Davidoff  had  been  welcomed  as  a  savior. 
Communicating  his  news  to  Juliette  with  wise 
precaution,  he  had  planted  at  first  a  seed  of 
hope  in  her  mind  which  had  found  fertile  soil. 
By  degrees  the  seed  cast  roots  which  spread 
vigorously;  and  now  the  flower,  ready  to 
bloom,  awaited  only  a  last  ray  of  sunshine. 
Since  the  beginning  of  the  week  Juliette,  with- 
out proof,  without  any  other  plausible  reason 
than  the  ardent  desire  to  see  the  miracle  she 
hoped  for  wrought,  had  become  convinced  that 
Pierre  was  living. 

The  ''on  dW  of  Davidoff  had  been  seized 
on  with  avidity  by  this  young  heart.     Why 


25^  TliE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

should  not  Pierre  have  been  rescued  from  the 
waves,  as  was  said,  and  taken  on  board  a  pass- 
ing trading-vessel  bound  for  Corsica,  where  he 
had  been  seen  by  persons  who  declared  they 
had  recognized  him?  What  was  there  strange 
in  his  remaining  all  these  months  hidden  from 
his  friends,  ashamed  perhaps  of  not  having 
carried  into  effect  the  suicidal  purpose  which 
he  had  announced?  And  was  it  not  natural 
that  he  should  leave  the  de  Vignes  in  ignor- 
ance of  his  being  alive?  All  this  was  admis- 
sible. And  the  young  girl  was  so  eager  to 
believe  it  that  she  would  have  thought  still 
stranger  things  likely. 

Each  day  Davidoff,  pursuing  the  same 
course,  gave  Juliette  an  account  of  the  results 
of  the  investigations  he  told  her  he  was  mak- 
ing. And  each  day  he  saw  this  benumbed  and 
frozen  heart  slowly  reawakening  to  life.  It 
was  a  delightful  spectacle  !o  the  doctor  to  see 
it  timidly  putting  forth  new  buds.  Juliette 
hoped,  but  with  fear  and  trembling,  and  at 
times  she  would  stop  short  suddenly  on  the 
road  whither  her  imagination  would  lead  her. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  259 

What  if,  after  indulging  in  these  dreams,  she 
should  have  to  fall  back  again  into  her  former 
state  of  despair?  What  if  the  reports  they 
had  heard  should  prove  untrue,  and  Pierre  had 
not  been  rescued? 

Her  heart  was  tortured  by  these  conflicting 
hopes  and  fears.  It  seemed  to  her  impossible 
that  death  should  have  snatched  away  in  an 
instant  this  young  man  so  full  of  life  and 
vigor.  She  recalled  to  mind  what  her  brother 
had  said  to  her  at  Beaulieu :  "His  body  has 
not  been  recovered."  She  had  not  at  the  time 
accepted  these  words  as  a  ground  for  hope. 
But  now  was  it  not  evident  that  if  the  sea  had 
not  cast  his  body  back  upon  the  shore,  it  was 
because  he  had  been  saved  from  its  treacherous 
waves,  and  that  he  still  lived?  This  hope  was 
now  so  deeply  rooted  in  her  heart  that  to  tear 
it  thence  nothing  less  than  positive  proof 
would  have  sufficed.  For  her  who  loved  him, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  see  Pierre  dead  in 
order  to  believe  that  he  no  longer  lived. 

This  very  morning  Davidoff  had  ventured  to 
say  to  Juliette: 


26o  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"I  dined  yesterday  with  some  people  who 
met  our  friend  in  Italy  and  spoke  to  him. 
We  may  expect  to  see  him  make  his  appear- 
ance one  of  these  days." 

She  looked  fixedly  at  the  doctor  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  said  : 

"Why  do  you  not  tell  me  everything?  Are 
you  afraid  of  the  effect  my  joy  would  have 
upon  me?  You  are  wrong.  I  am  certain  now 
that  he  lives.  I  saw  him  last  night  in  my 
dreams.  He  was  in  a  church,  a  poor  village 
church,  and  he  was  painting  a  sacred  picture. 
His  face  was  sad — sad,  and  from  time  to  time 
a  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek.  I  had  a  convic- 
tion that  he  was  thinking  of  me.  I  wished  to 
cry  out,  'Pierre,  enough  of  sorrow,  enough  of 
separation.  Come  back ;  we  are  waiting  for 
you,  and  it  would  make  us  so  happy  to  wel- 
come you.'  But  a  sort  of  mist  arose  between 
us,  and  I  could  only  see  him  faintly,  in  vague 
outline,  and  I  could  hear  distinctly  the  noise  of 
the  waves,  like  the  surf  beating  against  the 
rocks  at  Beaulieu.  Then  this  mist  disappeared, 
like  a  veil  which  is  torn  away,  and  I  saw  him 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  261 


once  more  clearly.  He  came  toward  me,  a 
smile  upon  his  lips.  He  made  a  gesture  as  if 
to  say,  'Have  patience:  I  am  coming,'  and 
then  I  awoke,  trembling  and  exhausted.  But  I 
have  faith.     He  is  near  us — in  Paris,  perhaps?" 

"Can  you  describe  to  me  the  church  of 
which  you  speak?"  asked  Davidoff,  greatly 
surprised. 

"Yes,"  returned  Juliette.  "It  stood  facing 
the  square  of  a  village.  The  gateway  to  it 
was  of  red  sandstone,  surmounted  by  a  sloping 
roof  of  brick.  The  walls  were  whitewashed, 
and  everything  in  it  was  of  the  humblest 
description — a  few  wooden  benches,  a  plain 
chair,  and  a  very  simple  altar." 

"And  the  picture  Pierre  was  painting,"  asked 
the  doctor,  "did  you  see  it?  Can  you  remem- 
ber what  it  was  like?" 

"Yes,  there  was  an  open  grave  in  it — from 
which  a  dead  man  was  rising.  I  saw  in  this  an 
omen." 

Davidoff  shook  his  head  in  silence,  greatly 
impressed  by  this  extraordinary  revelation.  It 
was    evidently    he    who,    by     the    power    of 


262  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

thought,  had  made  Mile,  de  Vignes  see  the 
church  at  Torrevecchio,  and  the  picture  of  the 
Resurrection ;  but  the  noise  of  the  waves  strik- 
ing the  ear  of  the  young  girl,  at  the  very  hour 
in  which  Pierre  was  on  the  sea,  how  explain 
this? 

He  remained  silent,  and  despite  all  Juliette 
could  do  gave  her  no  further  information. 
But  his  attitude,  his  words,  all  had  announced 
a  coming  event.  The  doctor  left  the  young 
girl  in  a  state  of  agitation  which  he  thought 
favorable  to  his  plans,  and  took  his  departure. 
In  the  evening  when  he  stopped  before  Mme. 
de  Vignes's  door,  accompanied  by  the  man 
whose  presence  was  so  ardently  desired,  his 
heart  beat  violently.  He  pressed  his  friend's 
arm  with  force,  and  pointing  to  the  last  win- 
dow of  the  entresol  he  said : 

"Remain  here  and  keep  your  eyes  fixed  on 
that  window.  When  you  see  me  appear  at  it, 
come  in,  but  not  before.  I  am  going  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  you.  I  am  more  uneasy  than 
I  can  tell  you." 

He  entered  the  house,  leaving  the  painter  on 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  263 

the  sidewalk  below.  Laurier,  left  thus  alone, 
was  seized  by  an  emotion  similar  to  that  which 
he  had  experienced  standing  on  the  rocky 
point  at  Torrevecchio,  the  sea  rolling  at  his 
feet,  when,  after  receiving  Davidoff' s  letter,  he 
had  questioned  his  own  heart  to  know  if  he 
were  worthy  of  Juhette.  A  solemn  emotion 
took  possession  of  him  while  he  thus  waited 
the  moment  to  present  himself  to  the  young 
girl.  He  was  grave  and  thoughtful  with  the 
sense  that  he  was  making  an  act  of  reparation. 
He  had  none  of  the  impatience,  the  joyful 
peace  of  a  convert  who  is  about  to  abjure  his 
errors,  obtain  pardon  for  his  sins,  and  live 
henceforward  in  peace  with  God  and  man. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  window,  thinking  of  the  scene  that 
was  taking  place  in  the  darkened  apartment 
within.  There  was  no  sign  of  life;  every- 
thing was  silent.  A  great  calm  pervaded  the 
young  man's  soul.  One  feeling  absorbed  every 
other  within  him — his  love  for  Juliette.  He 
recalled  to  mind  the  timid  and  innocent  love 
of  the  young  girl,  he  remembered  the  sorrows 


264  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERM, 


he  had  made  her  suffer,  and  face  to  face  with 
himself  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  he  swoi-e  to 
make  her  forget  them. 

At  this  moment  the  window  was  faintl}^ 
illuminated,  and  Dr.  Davidoff  gave  the  signal 
for  his  friend  to  enter. 

Laurier  hurried  forward  and  with  beating 
heart  mounted  the  steps.  The  door  was 
open,  he  crossed  the  hall,  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  and  standing  by  her  mother's  side  in 
front  of  the  chimney-piece  he  saw  Juliette. 
He  paused  motionless,  his  limbs  trembling, 
gazing  at  her  with  an  unsteady  glance. 

She  seemed  to  him  taller  than  before,  per- 
haps because  she  had  grown  thinner  and  had 
lost  her  color.  Her  white  hands  showed  deli- 
cate and  transparent  against  her  black  robe. 
Her  eyes,  filled  with  tears,  shone  with  a  soft 
brightness.  She  smiled,  and  examined  Pierre 
as  Pierre  was  examining  her.  She  thought  he 
had  grown  handsomer,  with  his  sunburned  face 
framed  by  the  brown  beard  he  had  allowed  to 
grow.  She  read  on  his  brow  traces  of  what 
he  had  suffered,  and  this  compensated  her  for 


THE  SOUL  OF  PIERRE.  265 

something  of  her  own  suffering.  Her  smile 
ended  in  tears,  and  putting  her  handkerchief 
quickly  to  her  eyes  she  sank  into  an  arm-chair 
and  burst  into  sobs. 

Pierre  uttered  a  cry,  and  rushing  toward  her 
threw  himself  at  her  feet,  entreating  her  for- 
giveness. Mme.  de  Vignes  in  much  alarm 
hastened  to  her  side,  but  Davidoff  reassured 
her  with  a  glance.  Then  the  mother  and  the 
physician,  seeing  that  the  two  young  people 
had  forgotten  everything  but  themselves,  left 
them  to  enjoy  in  freedom  the  first  moments  of 
their  happiness. 

When  they  returned  they  found  Pierre  and 
the  young  girl  seated  beside  each  other,  her 
hand  clasped  in  his.  Juliette  was  telling  him 
of  her  past  sorrows.  She  smiled  at  the  recol- 
lection of  them  now,  but  Pierre  could  not  hear 
of  them  without  emotion. 

"My  friends,"  said  Davidoff  to  the  lovers, 
**we  have  kept  our  promise  to  you,  and  you 
are  now  happy.  This  is  very  well,  but  even  of 
the  best  things  it  is  possible  to  have  too  much. 
Mile,  de  Vignes  is  not  yet  strong  enough  to 


266  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

allow  of  her  enjoying  anything,  even  happi- 
ness, in  excess.  She  has  had  enough  now  for 
one  occasion.  Besides,  you  will  have  plenty 
of  time  to  see  each  other  in  the  future." 

But  Juliette  pleaded  with  her  mother  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  grace,  and  Mme.  de  Vignes 
had  not  the  courage  to  cloud,  by  a  refusal,  the 
lovely  face  which  was  now  radiant  with  joy  for 
the  first  time  in  so  many  months.  She  felt 
that  the  victory  was  already  gained,  and  that 
youth  and  love  had  triumphed  over  death. 
And  the  feeling  of  bitterness  which  she  had  cher- 
ished against  Laurier  as  the  cause  of  so  much 
unhappiness  vanished  when  she  saw  the  trans- 
formation his  presence  had  effected  in  Juliette. 

They  sat,  then,  oblivious  of  time,  listening  to 
the  account  Pierre  gave  of  his  life  in  the  Httle 
Corsican  hamlet.  Juliette  already  loved  Agos- 
tino.  Marietta,  the  old  mother  and  the  good 
cur6.  And  the  promise  made  by  Pierre  to  his 
friends  at  Torrevecchio  to  return  to  see  them 
was  mentally  renewed  by  her  in  the  fullness  of 
her  heart.  It  struck  midnight  before  they 
separated. 


l^HE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  267 


**You  will  not  see  us  to-morrow,"  said  Davi- 
doflf  to  his  patient  with  a  smile. 

And  as  her  face  suddenly  clouded, — 

"We  must  not  think  of  you  alone,  dear 
child,"  he  said  gently.  "We  have  still  to  per- 
form another  cure,  more  difficult  than  yours. 
We  start  for  Trouville  to-morrow  morning,  to 
see  your  brother." 

In  an  instant  the  momentary  selfishness, 
which  had  caused  her  to  forget  everything  but 
her  own  happiness,  disappeared.  She  remem- 
bered the  painful  position  in  which  she  and  her 
mother  were  placed,  and  all  the  clearness  of 
her  judgment  at  once  returned  to  her.  She 
pressed  Davidoff 's  hand,  and  said  to  Pierre : 

"You  are  right ;  go,  both  of  you,  and  do  for 
my  brother  what  you  have  done  for  me !  If 
you  succeed  you  cannot  indeed  make  me  more 
grateful,  but  you  can  make  me  more  happy." 

Then,  taking  her  lover  by  the  hand,  she  led 
him  to  her  mother.  Mme.  de  Vignes  opened 
her  arms  to  the  prodigal  son,  and  as  Pierre  re- 
ceived her  kiss,  he  felt  that  now  indeed  he  was 
absolved. 


VII. 

THERE  was  to  be  a  grand  breakfast  at  the 
house  of  Clemence  on  this  day,  which  was 
the  first  day  of  the  races.  A  number  of  her 
friends  had  arrived  from  Paris  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  the  actress,  who  had  met  them  at  the 
Casino,  had  then  invited  them.  Among  them 
were  Prince  Patrizzi,  Duverney,  a  painter  of 
the  nude  of  the  modern  school,  and  a  wit 
who  still  preserved  the  gay  good-humor  of  his 
youthful  days:  Baron  Tr^sorier,  a  stock-broker 
and  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  of  Paris; 
Berneville  a  sportsman  who  rode  like  a  profes- 
sional jockey,  and  who  had  broken  his  collar- 
bone seven  times  riding  steeplechases;  the 
Duke  de  Faucigny,  the  youngest  member  of 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  an  uncompromising 
legitimist  who  had  strenuously  advocated  the 
claims  of  Don  Carlos;  Burat,  the  theatrical 
lawyer,  the  possessor  of  the  most  biting 
tongue  of  any  member  of  the  profession,  a  reg- 
969 


270  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

ular  attendant  at  first  nights,  and  an  ardent 
collector  of  paintings;  and  Selim  Nufio,  who 
had  come  to  see  his  mare  run  for  the  Agricultu- 
ral Sweepstakes,  and  who  concealed  his  anxiety 
as  to  the  result  under  an  affected  gayety.  The 
women  were  Andr^e  de  Taillebourg,  Mariette 
de  Fontenoy,  Laure  d'Evreux,  and  Sophie 
Viroflay,  all  beautiful  women,  dressed  to  per- 
fection. The  party  was  arranged  for  the  entire 
day.  After  breakfasting  at  Clemence's  they 
were  to  be  driven  on  Nufio's  coach  to  the  race- 
course. On  their  return,  after  making  some 
changes  in  their  toilettes,  they  were  to  meet 
at  half-past  seven  at  the  Roches-Noires,  where 
Tresorier  had  invited  them  to  dine.  After- 
wards they  were  all  to  go  to  the  Casino  for  a 
dance.  Jacques  took  a  turn  through  the  gar- 
dens with  Patrizzi,  while  Clemence  chatted 
with  Nufio,  who  had  seated  himself  beside  her. 
"Do  you  know  that  Jacques  offers  ten  to 
one  against  Mandragora?"  she  said.  "He  has 
won  so  much  at  play  during  the  last,  few  days 
that  he  thinks  everything  is  going  to  succeed 
with  him." 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  271 

Nuflo  reddened  with  anger,  and  rising  to  his 
feet  with  an  effort, — 

"I'll  take  his  bet,  and  for  more  than  he 
would  be  willing  to  stake,"  he  said.  "I  am 
sure  of  my  mare." 

"But  are  you  sure  of  your  jockey?"  asked 
Berneville.  "You  know  that  Chadwal  pulled 
La  Bouverie's  horse  the  other  day  at  Caen." 

"I  am  not  uneasy:  Petersen  cannot  get  as 
much  from  any  one  else  for  losing  as  he  can 
get  from  me  for  winning." 

"But,  my  dear  Nuflo,"  said  Andr^e  de  Taille- 
bourg,  "what  you  have  promised  to  Petersen 
will  not  give  legs  to  Mandragora." 

"The  mare  is  a  first-rate  animal,"  retorted 
the  banker. 

"Bah,  she  is  not  worth  a  straw." 

"Til  lay  even  odds  on  her  against  the  field," 
cried  Nuflo  furiously. 

"Nuflo  you  will  make  yourself  ill,"  said 
Sophie  Viroflay.  "There  is  nothing  so  dan- 
gerous as  to  fly  into  a  passion  before  eating." 

At  this  moment  the  doors  leading  into  the 
dining-room  were  thrown  open,  and  the  ma'itre 


272  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


d'hotel  announced  breakfast.  Clemence  took 
the  arm  of  Faucigny;  Jacques,  who  had  re- 
entered with  Patrizzi,  offered  his  to  Sophie 
Viroflay,  and  the  guests  proceeded  to  the  din- 
ing-room. 

This  was  a  magnificent  apartment  hung  with 
Chinese  silk,  with  furniture  of  carved  wood, 
which  opened  into  the  conservatory  on  the  one 
side  and  into  the  garden  on  the  other.  Three 
large  bay-windows  of  stained  glass,  represent- 
ing strange  flowers  and  fantastic  birds,  looked 
on  a  terrace,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  an  im- 
posing flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  lawn  bor- 
dered with  flowers.  Through  these  windows, 
open  to  the  breeze,  the  sunlight  streamed  in. 
The  turf  of  the  lawn  was  of  an  emerald  green, 
and  the  sanded  walks  shone  dazzling  white  in 
the  sunshine.  The  blue  sky  faded  in  the  dis- 
tance into  a  violet  hue.  The  heat  and  silence 
tended  to  produce  a  feeling  of  well-being,  and 
the  guests  of  Clemence,  yielding  unconsciously 
to  the  influence  of  the  day,  gave  themselves 
up  to  unrestrained  gayety. 

In   the    midst    of    the    general    merriment, 


The  soul  of  Pierre.  2)3 


Jacques  alone  remained  grave,  as  if  some  se- 
cret remorse  preyed  upon  his  mind.  Delivered 
for  the  time  being  from  his  pecuniary  anx- 
ieties, his  thoughts  reverted  to  those  whom  he 
had  so  cruelly  wronged  in  order  to  procure  this 
last  supply  of  money.  In  the  midst  of  this 
gay  company  he  was  possessed  by  the  most 
lugubrious  ideas.  He  looked  at  the  brilliant 
table  laden  with  flowers,  silver,  and  crystal ;  he 
observed  those  who  were  seated  around  it,  and 
he  saw  that  they  were  careless  and  happy. 
He  alone  felt  the  pangs  of  remorse  for  an  ill- 
spent  life.  None  of  the  others  were  troubled 
either  in  mind  or  heart.  He  heard  their  bursts 
of  laughter  and  their  jests;  and  thus  it  was 
with  them  everyday;  the  same  unconcerned 
gayety,  the  same  round  of  pleasure. 

For  him,  too,  every  day  was  the  same,  em- 
bittered by  an  anguish  which  he  could  not 
subdue.  His  eyes  were  fastened  on  Clemence 
and  Faucigny,  who  were  talking  together  in  a 
low  voice  opposite  him.  He  could  not  hear 
their  words,  but  he  divined  what  they  were 
saying.     The  duke  in  his  soft  and  insinuating 


iU  THE  30UL  OF  PlERPE. 

voice  was  paying  court  to  the  actress,  and  she 
was  listening  to  him  with  a  smile.  Jacques's 
brow  contracted  with  a  look  of  pain.  "It  is 
because  I  am  growing  morose  that  she  is 
getting  tired  of  me,"  he  said  to  himself.  He 
emptied  one  after  another  the  glasses  that 
stood  beside  his  plate,  and  this  mingling  of  the 
different  wines  brought  a  flush  to  his  cheeks. 

Suddenly  he  heard  Patrizzi  calling  to  him 
across  the  table. 

"Tell  me,  Jacques,"  he  said,  "does  not  this 
breakfast  remind  you  of  our  dinner  at  Monte 
Carlo?  Some  of  the  men  and  most  of  the 
women  here  to-day  were  present  on  that  occa- 
sion. We  were  not  as  gay  as  we  are  now. 
And  the  stories  that  were  told!  Do  you 
remember?" 

"And  that  reminds  me,  how  is  it  that  the 
Russian  doctor  who  is  traveling  with  Woreseff 
is  not  here?"  said  Andr^e  de  Taillebourg. 

"He  has  been  in  Paris  for  the  last  five  days," 
said  Patrizzi. 

At  these  words  Jacques  fancied  he  saw  the 
pale    and    sorrowful    image    of    Juliette   rise 


TitE   SOUL   OF  PtERR^.  ^75 

before  him.  She  was  seated  in  the  drawing- 
room  where  he  had  spent  so  many  evenings 
while  he  was  still  an  obedient  son  and  an  affec- 
tionate brother.  Madame  de  Vignes  was 
bending  anxiously  over  her  daughter,  and 
Davidoff,  standing  beside  them,  was  looking  at 
them,  with  pitying  eyes.  It  seemed  to  the 
young  man  that  his  mother  had  uttered  his 
name,  and  that  the  doctor  had  answered  her 
by  shaking  his  head  sadly.  Was  it  not  he  who 
ought  to  be  at  the  side  of  those  two  women? 
Why  should  it  be  left  to  this  stranger  to  con- 
sole his  mother  and  his  sister?  A  voice  mur- 
mured in  his  ear:  "It  is  because  you  have 
refused  to  fulfill  your  duty ;  because  you  have 
sacrificed  your  mother  to  your  passion  for 
gambling,  and  your  sister  to  your  love  for  a 
coquette;  because  you  are  a  coward  and  an 
ingrate." 

He  burst  into  a  sudden  fit  of  laughter,  inex- 
plicable and  terrible  to  those  who  heard  him, 
which  drew  upon  him  the  attention  of  all  the 
guests.  His  face  was  pale,  his  lips  were  tightly 
drawn,  and  his  eyes  were  gleaming. 


276  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


"Yes,  yes,"  he  cried  without  heeding  their 
astonishment.  "The  dinner  at  Monte  Carlo 
was  not  so  gay  as  this  breakfast.  I  was  dying 
then,  for  one  thing,  and  to-day  I  am  well — oh, 
very  well,  thanks  to  DavidolT,  who  has  pro- 
pounded an  admirable  theory  respecting  the 
transmigration  of  souls.  You  have  not  forgot- 
ten it,  Patrizzi?  Nor  you,  Tr^sorier?  He  told 
us  a  story  about  a  young  Russian  girl — a  cu- 
rious story  indeed !  And  what  an  amusing 
story-teller  Davidoff  is!  No  one  among  us 
took  his  story  seriously,  not  even  you,  Patrizzi, 
although  you  are  a  Neapolitan,  and  conse- 
quently superstitious.  For  you  believe  in  the 
evil  eye,  do  you  not,  Prince." 

"Do  not  jest  about  those  things,"  responded 
Patrizzi,  who  became  suddenly  grave,  and 
made  with  the  two  fingers  of  his  left  hand  a 
quick  gesture  behind  his  back. 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  Jacques  sarcastically;  "did 
you  see  the  gesture  of  the  Prince?  He  wants 
to  charm  away  ill-luck.  He  believes  in 
the   jettaturaf   yet    he    did    not    believe   in 

*  The  evil  eye. 


T?rE   SOUL    OF  FIERkM.  ^77 


the  theories  of  Davidoff.  No  one  believed 
in  tb.cm,  no  one — except  Pierre  Laurier. 
But  every  one  knows  the  poor  fellow  was 
mad!" 

The  silence  of  death  succeeded  these  strange 
words.  All  the  guests  felt  an  icy  chill  creep 
over  them.  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
ghost  of  the  man  whom  they  had  once  known 
and  loved  was  about  to  appear  before  them. 
The  men  looked  at  each  other,  vexed  by  this 
sudden  outburst,  which  cast  a  gloom  over 
the  feast  which  had  begun  so  joyously.  The 
women  began  to  laugh,  without  comprehending^ 
what  was  taking  place.  Clemence,  however, 
furious,  bit  her  livid  lips,  and  striking  the  tabic 
sharply  with  her  knife,  her  glass  fell  with  a 
crash  on  the  floor. 

"A  broken  glass!"  cried  Laure  d'Evreux. 
"That  is  an  unlucky  omen." 

"All  this  is  truly  absurd,  Jacques,"  cried 
Clemence  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  anger. 
"Our  friends  have  not  come  here  to  listen  to 
such  nonsense." 

"He  has  drunk  too  much,  our  good  Jacques," 


27^  THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

cried  Sophie  Viroflay.  "It  is  only  half-past 
twelve,  which  is  a  little  too  early." 

"No,  I  am  not  intoxicated,"  cried  the  young 
man,  whose  face  assumed  a  terrible  expression. 
"I  said  that  Laurier  was  mad.  Does  any 
one  here  doubt  it?  Among  you  all,  who  saw 
him  during  the  last  few  months  of  his  life,  and 
who  witnessed  the  anguish  he  endured,  is  there 
one  who  denies  the  truth  of  what  I  say?  Ah! 
you  are  silent.  Clemence  herself  does  not 
speak.  It  is  because  she  knows  well  that  Lau- 
rier was  mad,  and  why  he  was  mad." 

The  countenance  of  the  actress  at  this 
speech  became  yellow  with  rage,  as  if  gall  had 
replaced  the  blood  in  her  veins.  Her  beauti- 
ful bosom  swelled  with  rage,  and  in  a  hissing 
voice  she  cried : 

"You  make  us  regret  him.  It  is  a  pity  he 
is  not  in  your  place,  and  you  in  his!" 

"Patience.  I  shall  soon  be  there,"  said 
Jacques  with  a  terrible  smile;  "for  I,  in  my 
turn,  am  leading  the  same  life  of  torture  which 
drove  him  to  suicide.  I  can  judge  of  his  suf- 
ferings by   what    I  myself   endure,  and  I  can 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRF:.  279 

understand  how  he  resolved  to  bear  them  no 
longer.  We  were  speaking  just  now  of  Dr. 
Davidoff,  and  we  recalled  the  fantastic  stories 
he  related  to  us  on  a  certain  night.  Patrizzi, 
do  you  remember  how  Laurier,  after  listen- 
ing in  silence  to  Davidoff,  cried  suddenly: 
'Jacques,  if  I  should  ever  grow  tired  of  life  I 
will  bequeath  my  soul  to  you?'  I  see  you 
have  not  forgotten  it.  Well,  before  that  very 
night  was  over  he  was  dead,  and  I,  who  had 
barely  a  breath  of  life,  recovered  my  health. 
A  few  days  later.  Prince,  meeting  me  at  a 
masked  ball  at  Nice,  you  said  to  me  jestingly : 
'It  seems  that  you  have  now  an  entirely  new 
soul,  that  of  your  friend  Laurier.'  You  little 
knew  how  true  was  what  you  said.  This  soul 
was  in  me.  I  felt  it,  strong  and  ardent,  with  all 
its  passions,  those  same  passions  that  had  been 
the  ruin  of  the  unfortunate  Pierre — an  inordi- 
nate love  of  pleasure,  a  desire  to  be  madly  loved, 
an  unconquerable  passion  for  play — that  con- 
sumed me  in  their  fires.  A  woman  crossed 
my  path ;  she  attracted  me  irresistibly,  fatally. 
It  was  impossible  for  it  to  be  otherwise,  for  I 


28o  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE, 

had  within  me  the  soul  of  Pierre,  filled  by  the 
ardent  love  he  had  cherished  for  this  woman. 
Oh,  I  had  a  gleam  of  reason ;  I  foresaw  for  an 
instant  my  fate,  and  I  tried  to  resist  her  power, 
but  the  spell  of  the  enchantress  was  upon  me 
and  my  efforts  were  vain.  All  my  being 
impelled  me  toward  her.  I  obeyed  her  as  a 
dog  obeys  his  master — she  had  only  to  raise 
her  finger  and  I  returned  to  her  after  swearing 
I  would  never  see  her  again.  Thus  I  have 
followed  step  by  step  the  same  path  that  led 
Pierre  Laurier  to  his  ruin.  Like  him  I  gam- 
bled, because  I  had  need  of  money — a  great 
deal  of  money.  Like  him  I  forgot  everything 
but  the  woman  I  at  once  hated  and  adored. 
He  had  sacrificed  to  her  his  genius  and  his 
fame.  I  betrayed  for  her  those  dearest  to 
me.  I  plundered  my  mother  and  neglected 
my  sister.  He  was  base  and  I  have  been 
baser.  And  now  do  you  think  I  am 
in  my  right  mind  and  that  I  can  reason 
clearly?" 

He  rose  to  his  feet ;  his  lips  foamed  slightly, 
his  hands  trembled,  and  he  gave  a  forced  laugh. 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  281 


He  raised  his  glass  filled  with  champagne  and 
said : 

"I  drink  to  all  of  you,  friends  and  rivals  in 
the  affections  of  the  woman  I  love.  And  I 
drink  to  the  memory  of  the  absent  one — 
Pierre  Laurier!" 

He  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips,  but  he  did  not 
drink.  His  glance,  directed  toward  the  ter- 
race, had  become  fixed  as  if  in  terror.  He 
uttered  a  hoarse  cry  and  took  a  step  backward. 
He  had  caught  sight  of  the  man  whose  name 
he  had  just  uttered, — Pierre  Laurier,  mount- 
ing the  steps  with  Davidoff.  While  he  was 
advancing  toward  them  Jacques  devoured  him 
with  his  eyes,  breathless,  stupefied,  a  cold 
sweat  upon  his  forehead. 

When  the  two  men  paused  at  the  threshold 
of  the  room,  he  made  a  wild  gesture  as  if  to 
shut  them  out  from  his  terrified  vision,  then 
put  his  hand  to  his  throat  as  if  suffocating, 
and  cried  in  a  hollow  voice : 

"Pierre,  what  do  you  come  to  seek  here? 
You  know  well  that  we  cannot  both  exist  upon 
the  earth  together!     If  you  live  I  must  die!" 


282  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

"Jacques!"  cried  Laurier,  advancing  toward 
him  with  outstretched  hands. 

De  Vignes  tried  to  push  him  back,  but  sud- 
denly turned  pale,  and  uttering  a  hoarse  cry 
sank  into  the  arms  of  his  friend. 

**He  is  dead!"  said  Berneville  in  a  tremb- 
ling voice.     "Let  some  one  call  for  help — " 

"Do  not  stir,"  said  Davidoff:  "he  is  not 
dead,  and  we  need  no  help." 

He  poured  some  water  into  a  glass,  and  with 
it  moistened  the  temples  of  the  unfortunate 
man,  who  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

Of  all  those  who  had  gathered  around  him 
hastily,  Clemence  was  the  first  to  recover  her 
self-possession. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  she  asked 
Davidoff. 

"To  take  M.  de  Vignes  away,"  returned  the 
Russian. 

Pierre  took    a  step   toward  Clemence,  and 
placing  himself  in  front  of  her, — 

"Do  you  mean  to  oppose  our  doing  so?"  he 
asked  coldly. 

The  actress  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.     She 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  283 

saw  that  he  was  calm ;  his  eyes  were  sad,  his 
lips  wore  a  disdainful  smile.  He  was  again 
the  Pierre  Laurier  of  the  early  days  of  their 
acquaintance,  with  his  haughty  and  thoughtful 
brow,  his  manly  air,  and  there  was  a  melan- 
choly sweetness  in  his  voice  that  stirred  the 
heart  of  Clemence  to  its  very  depths.  She 
wished  to  treat  him  with  insolence,  but  a  sud- 
den humility  softened  her  heart.  She  glanced 
at  Pierre  with  a  timid  smile,  and  approaching 
closer  to  him  said : 

"Is  it  prudent  to  take  him  away  now? 
Come  with  me;  I  will  show  you  to  a  room 
where  he  can  be  cared  for,  and  where  he  will 
not  be  disturbed." 

"It  is  useless,"  responded  Pierre.  "Neither 
he  nor  we  will  remain  here  a  moment  longer." 

"Why?"  asked  Clemence.  "Arc  we  then 
enemies?" 

Laurier  pointed  to  Jacques,  gasping  for 
breath  in  the  arms  of  Davidoff,  and  with- 
out anger,  but  with  unalterable  firmness,  an- 
swered : 

"I  have   forgiven  you  the  injury  you  have 


284  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

done  me.  I  will  never  forgive  you  the  injury 
you  have  done  him.     Adieu." 

Davidoff  and  Pierre  carried  Jacques,  still  un- 
conscious, across  the  garden,  to  the  carriage 
which  had  brought  them. 

Hardly  were  they  out  of  sight  than  the 
restraint  which  had  weighed  upon  the  guests 
disappeared. 

"Ah,  my  children !"  cried  Burat,  "what  a 
termination  for  a  feast !" 

"They  did  well  to  take  him  away,"  said 
Mariette  de  Fontenoy ;  "it  was  becoming  unen- 
durable ;  I  have  a  horror  of  scenes  at  table." 

"You  have  the  consolation  of  knowing,  how- 
ever, Clemence,"  said  Duvernay,  "that  the  men 
who  kill  themselves  for  your  sake,  always  come 
back  to  life  again." 

Clemence  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  her 
head  sunk  thoughtfully  on  her  breast.  Then 
looking  around  at  her  guests  with  a  sardonic 
glance, — 

"You  may  say  what  you  choose  of  Pierre 
Laurier,"  she  said  abruptly,  "but  among  you 
all  there   is   not  gne   who  is  his   equal ! — And 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE,  285 

now  it  is  near  two  o'clock.     Let  us  go  to  the 

race-course  to  see  Selim's  horse  come  in  a  bad 

last." 

•jfr  *  *  *  *  *         * 

Pierre  and  Juliette  had  been  married  for 
three  months.  The  young  wife  had  recovered 
the  bloom  of  health.  Laurier,  overwhelmed 
with  orders,  worked  all  day,  and  he  and  Juli^ 
ette  spent  the  evenings  with  Mme.  de  Vignes 
and  Jacques.  Slowly  but  surely  Jacques  was 
sinking  to  the  tomb.  Cured  of  his  dangerous 
madness  he  had  become  amiable  and  gentle. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  was  resolved  upon  making 
those  around  him  forget  the  anguish  he  had 
caused  them  to  suffer,  and  not  once,  since  he 
had  been  brought  to  his  mother's  house,  had 
he  been  heard  to  utter  a  complaint.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  accepted  suffering  and  death  as  an 
expiation  for  his  faults. 

Emaciated  and  hollow-eyed,  his  hair  almost 
white,  there  remained  not  a  trace  of  the  beauty 
that  had  turned  so  many  heads.  He  looked 
like  an  old  man.  He  now  scarcely  ever  rose 
from  his  easy-chair.     A  plaid  thrown  over  his 


286  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 

knees,  his  thin  hands  stretched  out  before  him, 
he  would  sit  for  hours  by  the  window,  sunk  in 
a  revery,  or  gazing  idly  at  the  passers-by  as 
they  hastened  along  the  street.  He  refused 
even  to  drive  with  his  mother  to  the  Bois 
to  take  the  air.  He  would  answer  with  a 
smile : 

*'I  must  have  a  little  vanity,  and  not  show 
myself  looking  so  weak  and  miserable  to  those 
who  remember  me  young  and  vigorous.  Go 
you,  my  dear  mother,  and  when  you  come 
back  you  will  tell  me  about  what  you  have 
seen;  thus  I  shall  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  the 
drive  without  its  fatigue." 

Only  when  his  sister  came  would  his  melan- 
choly countenance  light  up  with  pleasure.  He 
could  not  bear  Juliette  out  of  his  sight,  and 
would  excuse  himself  for  so  selfishly  depriving 
her  husband  of  her  society,  by  saying : 

"Let  him  bear  with  me.  I  have  only  a  lit- 
tle while  more  left  in  which  to  enjoy  it,  and  he 
has  a  life-time." 

One  day  he  said  to  her : 

"Do  you  remember,  Juliette,  the  terrace  at 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  287 


Beaulieu,  and  the  conversation  we  had  there 
together?" 

The  young  girl  shuddered  with  horror  at 
this  recollection.  She  wished  to  interrupt  her 
brother,  to  prevent  him  from  recalling  those 
sad  days.  But  he  insisted  with  an  obstinacy 
unusual  with  him. 

"The  remorse  I  endure  is  so  bitter,"  he  said, 
"that  at  all  costs  I  want  to  be  delivered  from 
it.  At  night,  during  my  sleepless  hours,  it  tor- 
tures me.  It  envenoms  every  moment  of  my 
life.  I  have  been  very  guilty  toward  you  who 
are  so  sweet  and  innocent.  Ah,  so  long  as 
you  do  not  forgive  me  I  cannot  be  at  rest !" 

"But  what  have  you  done,  my  poor  brother, 
that  you  should  thus  accuse  yourself?"  said 
Juliette.  "Our  sorrow  was  the  same,  and  we 
mingled  our  tears  together." 

"No,  our  sorrow  was  not  the  same,"  said 
Jacques  in  a  low  voice,  "for  my  sorrow  was  as- 
sumed. I  believed  that  I  lived  with  the  life  of 
Pierre,  and  I  did  not  regret  his  death.  Oh, 
what  I  tell  you  is  terrible,  but  the  truth  must 
be  said.     I  had  the  certainty  that  you  would 


288  THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE. 


die  of  your  grief,  yet  I  felt  regret  at  the  con- 
viction only  because  your  death  would  seem 
like  a  reproach  to  my  joy.  Yes,  I  was  such 
a  monster  that  I  accepted  the  thought  that 
Pierre  was  dead  and  that  you  also  were  going 
to  die.  But  what  were  all  those  deaths  to  me 
compared  to  the  certainty  of  my  living?  I 
dared  to  allow  this  thought  to  enter  my  mind. 
Man  is  indeed  a  cowardly  and  miserable 
brute." 

His  cheeks  were  burning.  He  resumed  in  a 
gasping  voice : 

"Between  your  life  and  mine,  I  was  satisfied 
that  yours  should  be  the  sacrifice.  And 
instead  of  mourning  my  lost  friend  I  was 
rejoiced  to  live  in  his  stead.  I  was,  as  you 
see,  my  dear  sister,  for  a  time  mad.  In  order 
to  cure  me  DavidofT  tried  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment. He  wished  to  prove  the  power  of  the 
moral  nature  over  the  physical,  of  the  spirit 
over  the  body.  He  desired  to  learn  if  faith 
could  produce  material  results.  The  experi- 
ment, unfortunately,  was  tried  on  a  weak 
nature,  an  impressionable  imagination.     It  pro- 


THE  SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  2S9 


duced  only  too  powerful  a  result.  Like  the 
miracle  workers  of  old  who  played  upon  the 
credulity  of  the  ignorant,  he  said  to  me :  'You 
are  cured;  you  have  received  within  you 
another  hfe:  live  then.'  And  I  was  so  eager 
to  believe  what  he  told  me  that  I  ended  by 
believing  it.  But  at  the  price  of  what  mental 
hallucinations,  what  deterioration  of  character ! 
I  had  been  amiable  and  good ;  I  became  cruel 
and  selfish.  And  in  order  to  forget,  in  order 
to  silence  the  protestations  of  my  conscience, 
I  threw  myself  into  a  life  of  pleasure,  I  gave 
myself  up  to  vice.  The  transformation  that 
had  taken  place  made  me  so  different  from 
what  I  had  been  that  I  seemed  to  live  with  a 
double  life.  There  was  in  me  the  physical 
being  whose  acts  were  inspired  by  a  species  of 
madness,  and  an  intellectual  being  who  pro- 
tested with  groans  against  all  these  excesses. 
For  nearly  a  year  I  have  lived  like  a  criminal, 
hating  my  crime  and  condemning  myself  for  it. 
Such  is  the  life  I  have  been  leading.  And 
it  was  to  prolong  this  hell  that  I  was  wil- 
ling  that  Laurier  should  die,  and   thought  it 


igo  THE   SOUL   OF  PtERRE. 


right  that  you  should  follow  him.  But  a  just 
God  interposed.  Pierre  and  you  are  alive,  and 
it  is  I  who  am  about  to  die." 

"Jacques !"  interrupted  the  young  wife,  bend- 
ing over  her  brother's  hand  and  letting  her 
tears  fall  upon  it. 

The  dying  man  recovered  his  breath  with 
difficulty,  and  said  with  solemnity : 

"Tell  me  that  you  forgive  me,  and  that  when 
I  am  no  longer  among  you,  you  will  some- 
times think  of  me  with  pity  and  afTection." 

"Ah,  yes!  I  forgive  you,"  returned  Juliette, 
"since  you  insist  on  my  saying  those  unneces- 
sary words,  and  there  is  no  merit  in  my  doing 
so,  for  I  love  you." 

Jacques  smiled  gently. 

"Decidedly,"  he  said,  "women  are  better 
than  we  are." 

"But,  Jacques,  you  will  live,"  cried  Juliette. 

"To  what  purpose?" 

Then  his  expression  changed,  and  with  a 
pathetic  attempt  at  gaye'  y  he  said : 

"Besides,  that  would  not  be  possible;  for 
now  it  is  you  who  possess  the  soul  of  Pierre." 


THE   SOUL   OF  PIERRE.  291 

Six  weeks  later,  as  the  autumn  was  drawing 
to  its  close,  and  the  last  leaves  were  falling 
from  the  trees,  they  all  set  out  for  the  south. 
They  saw  again  with  mingled  pleasure  and  sad- 
ness the  Villa  of  Beauville,  the  pine  wood,  the 
thuyas  and  the  fir-trees,  and  the  little  bay  en- 
circled by  its  red  rocks,  where  the  waves  died 
murmuringly  away  on  the  beach.  Jacques 
seemed  for  a  time  to  revive  under  the  influence 
of  the  southern  sun ;  then  he  grew  weaker  and 
more  sombre  than  before,  and  one  evening, 
surrounded  by  those  who  loved  him,  he  gently 
exhaled  his  latest  breath. 

He  sleeps  upon  a  hillside  sheltered  by 
orange-trees,  lulled  by  the  fragrant  breezes, 
and  on  his  tomb  may  be  read  these  words : 

JACQUES  DE  VIGNES. 
God  has  taken  to  Himself  his  poor  suffering  soul, 

THE  END. 


W               14  DAY  USE 

RtlURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

^}f\n^^yiPl  tK         '■ 

niZP  1 1  KViR 

Iffib  JLO   1900 

l^^n^^^'^                       -^^i^'-'- 

YB  54950 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


